


Codes of Conduct

by MayonakaNoAme



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25484026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayonakaNoAme/pseuds/MayonakaNoAme
Summary: Cloud Strife isn’t normal. Never was, never would be. Therefore, Tifa shouldn’t be surprised that this is how he chooses to address the unspoken tension between them - without words, in the dark dead of night, under the guise of ‘helping out a friend’ and keeping a promise. With friends like these, who needs fantasy?
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart & Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 122
Kudos: 317





	1. Deadbolt

_“No one makes a lock without a key.”_

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 1: Deadbolt_

Tifa swore that for a fraction of a second - an inestimable crumb of time - Cloud Strife looked happy. 

Like, _genuinely_ happy. Or at the very least amused. 

Thank goodness the noodles they were eating were slippery enough that she didn’t choke in shock. For days now she had been trying to get a rise out of him and thus far only conjured an approving grunt upon suggesting they hit the laundromat. 

Alas, the expression was gone as quickly as it arrived, stoic demeanor snapping back into place like an elastic stretched too thin. It’s sudden erasure hit her in the face just as candidly and she fell back in her seat. 

Must have been the light playing tricks. Perhaps from the flickering strings of multicolored bulbs suspended above their heads where they sat opposite one another at Mr. Yang’s food cart. Though she had been reacquainted with her childhood friend for a mere three days after finding him barely conscious at the Sector 7 train station, it had long since become clear that “happy” was not one of his natural states.

“What did I tell you? Amazing, isn’t it?” she prompted after a perfectly gooey bite of soft-boiled, miso egg. 

True to low expectations, the ex-SOLDIER raised his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug, swirling his chopsticks around the peppery broth as if expecting a response to float to the surface. Tifa grinned. How absurdly predictable. 

Chatting with Cloud was a lot like juggling; it took all of her concentration to keep the flow lest she drop the ball and everything plummet into uncomfortable silence. It was both exhausting and yet fun, as she had never been one to back away from a challenge. 

If there was one word to define the guy, _challenging_ was a definite contender. 

She was not deterred. Never would be. 

“Seriously? That’s all you got? This is hands down the best ramen in all of Midgar and anyone who says otherwise is crazy.” 

Another shrug as he pinched and released a tangle of noodles. “I’ve had better.”

Tifa’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Blasphemy! I’m not sure we can be friends anymore, Strife.”

To enforce the point, she threw a light punch to his non armored shoulder from across the table and immediately regretted it. Most people would have reeled from the hit but Cloud’s body, like his mood, seemed to be made of granite. His lips twitched at the corner as if to say she got what she deserved and, despite the knuckle pain, her chest swelled with pride. It wasn’t exactly a smile but it was as close as she was gonna get tonight and more than she had been able to coax so far. 

Finally. 

She rewarded herself with leaning her chin on her fist and taking a minute to shamelessly observe while he fussed about his bowl, piling slivers of fatty pork to one side and mushrooms opposite to better access the real treasure, the hand pulled noodles, nested at the bottom. Cloud ate the same way he did everything else she had so far witnessed; with grace, efficiency and unwarranted suspicion. As if a drill sergeant were breathing down his neck and every second bite threatened to be laced with arsenic. The elegance of his gestures, the way he handled the chopsticks like a dancer’s baton, made Tifa want to giggle but she swallowed the impulse, remembering how any comment on his masculinity (or lack thereof) used to make him especially uncomfortable. 

To _throw_ or _talk_ or _walk_ like a girl was the height of insult comedy to the less creative bullies of their hometown, and the slim-hipped, fair-complexioned Cloud Strife had been too obvious a target. Too bad he hadn’t stuck around long enough to see her complete her martial arts training with Master Zangan, when “ _like a girl”_ became something to aspire to within their distorted social circle. 

That was a long time ago. _That Strife bastard_ , as her father had oh-so-affectionately dubbed him, was an entirely different sort of creature now. If it wasn’t for the unique coloring of his pale hair, dark blue eyes and, not to mention, the acute social awkwardness, it would have been difficult to believe that her scrawny fourteen-year-old neighbor and this hardened twenty-one-year-old SOLDIER were the same person. Then again, as she instinctively flattened the leather pleats of her skirt when a trio of tipsy students staggered up to the cart, she supposed she had changed rather drastically as well over seven years. 

Tifa pushed her hair behind her ears in nervous habit as she chanced a glance toward the rowdy group loudly and rudely slurring their orders at Mr. Yang. 

Where she may have once ignored such buffoonery, which was never sparse this time of night in the slums, it had since become custom for her to identify and ideally put a cap on it before the scale tipped more towards endangerment than mere horseplay. Even if that meant a jaw or three needed to get busted. 

Tapping her dirt crusted, chipped nails on the table, Tifa concluded that, yes, she was unquestionably no longer that demure, country girl-the-next-door that Cloud may remember. He would figure that out soon enough and her outfit alone probably cinched it. Tonight however, for reasons she didn’t dare read too much into, she wanted to maintain the illusion for him if only for a few more nostalgic hours.

Back then, last they had seen each other that night on the water tower, she had still been under the small-town delusion that her security and happiness depended solely on attracting a husband. The right kind of husband. Not one who hit, like Ryu’s dad. Not one who drank, like Mr. Shinto at the inn. Not one who would vanish once a child came along, like whoever the poor Claudia Strife had gotten herself mixed up with, resulting in the damaged man before her. Someone who wouldn’t mind and maybe even appreciate a girl who took the reins, who could let her share if not take over the duties of protector and/or breadwinner without any egos bruised. 

Pickins’ for such a man were more than just slim in Nibleheim. They were downright translucent. Perhaps that was why she decided that the stigma of “bastard” would never deter her, no matter her father’s opinions. There were so many worse labels a man could don. That night, at the tender age of thirteen, when the quiet but kind boy-next-door asked that she secretly meet him under the cover of darkness, she remembered putting on her prettiest blue dress and daring to think - to _hope_ \- that maybe her ticket to freedom had been right in front of her the entire time. 

A long, long time ago. 

“Heyyy, Tifa baby!” Her musings were scattered by a chair being dragged to their table, scraping across the concrete like nails on a chalkboard. A dark-haired teen who had recently reached legal age and spent nearly every day since at her bar, plopped himself down close enough that their knees brushed. 

Tifa didn’t bother veiling her wince. 

Here we go again. 

“Hi Theo,” she said through a tense smile. “Can I help you?”

“Course you can, sweetness. Why the heck is 7th Heaven closed again!? My boys and I here-” A hiccup interrupted and Tifa caught a whiff of that illegal moonshine sold in Wall Market, a famous catalyst of the ground floor’s dumbest and most deadly stunts. “We- uh, we wanted to have a little party. We’re celebrating!”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve had a bit of a-” she glanced at Cloud while contemplating her words, but he was too busy dissecting his soup to give them any mind, “ _personal_ matter. Dare I ask what you are celebrating?” She said this while not so subtly shifting her own chair backward a foot. This was and would forever be a delicate dance in her line of work; tip-toeing the line between flirtatious, at-your-service bartender versus the weary, takes-no-BS owner who just wanted to collect cash and keep the peace. 

“Life, Tifa! We’re celebrating _LIFE!_ And you _gotsa_ join us! You’re too pretty to be spending a Friday night alone.” 

“Yeah!” Two other guys of similar levels of inebriation woohoo-ed their agreement from the ramen stand line. 

Across the table, she heard Cloud tsk. She flashed him a sympathetic smirk but the apparently fascinating soup still maintained his attention. 

“Life, huh? Well, as fun as that sounds, I’m a little busy right now. How about you stop by tomorrow? I have a feeling you’ll need a good, greasy meal come morning.”

“Tiffaaaa…” Theo whined, shuffling his chair forward again, this time close enough that one of his knees slipped between hers and a hand clapped down onto her leg just above the elastic of her thigh-highs. The girl she was five years ago, before being dumped injured, alone and broke in Midgar, would have been shocked and perhaps terrified by this uninvited invasion. The woman she now was was merely exhausted by it. “Come on, baby, you know you want-” 

He never got to finish the sentence. As Tifa was adjusting her gloves to quietly but sternly remind Theo where they stood, the metal beneath him vanished and in a blink he was sprawled on the ground. For a second, she had thought that the chair had collapsed in a rare instance of poetic justice, but then her view was blocked by Cloud’s back as he stood between them. The chair itself was several meters away, embedded in the wooden planks that served as a divider between carts. 

“What the _hell_ , dude! You-” Tifa could do nothing but watch, glued to her chair in a stupor, as Cloud leaned over the younger man, brandishing his cheap, splintered chopsticks like a knife at Theo’s throat. 

“You touch her again,” he whispered, blue eyes suddenly more vivid green and flashing “and the only thing your friends will be celebrating is your funeral. Understand?” 

If the kid had had any alcohol-spurred inclination to fight, it dissolved the second he met and recognized those eyes. Mako eyes. More than the uniform, more than the muscular arms, more than the gigantic sword leaning nearby, it was that subtle but disconcerting green glow that proved any test of strength would be horrendously unbalanced. While frantically nodding, Theo scampered backwards through the dirt until he hit his friends’ boots. They didn’t waste time yanking him to his feet and staggered back the way they came, towards Sector 6, abandoning their freshly prepared orders. 

Some things just weren’t worth it. Even the best ramen in Midgar. 

Tifa remained frozen as Cloud nonchalantly returned to his seat and resumed eating. As if nothing more dramatic had happened beyond him tying his bootlace. The surrounding patrons whispered for a minute or two - words like “SOLIDER” and “wow” and “big sword” raining upon her ears but not enough to compile a whole sentence - but they fell back into their own conversations soon enough as Cloud slurped his broth, proving that he was done entertaining for the evening. 

“You’re right,” he said a while later, eyes on his bowl as Tifa gripped the edges of her chair tighter. “I think this is the best ramen in Midgar.”

* * *

After splashing a handful of cold water on her face, Tifa released a long held gasp. Glancing up in the mirror, she tried to morph her shell-shocked expression into something normal by half closing her eyes and furrowing her brow, but ended up looking pained. 

It was a lost cause. Whatever. She had bigger problems to worry about than her face. 

Glancing around the apartment, Tifa scrutinized the sleeping bag beside her bed with newfound awe. 

Three days and a lifetime ago, she had been wiping dried blood off a semi-cataonic Cloud’s cheek and wringing mass amounts of it out of his uniform sweater, none of which proved to be his. Three nights since she had been digging coins from between the bar’s floorboards, praying to scrounge enough for a doctor visit, regardless of how pissed Barret would be if they had to delay the mission yet again due to lack of funds. Only the day before yesterday that she had woken up to find him showered, dressed and, for all intents and purposes, _normal_ , asking where he could find a good weapon polish.

She had insisted he stay without really thinking about it. It was supposed to be simple. Helping out an old friend who had fallen on hard times. It was meant to be only for a few days. Until he got a chance to earn some gil and figure out his next steps. She’d had shadier roommates back when she first came to the city. Why not, she had thought. Three days and forever ago. 

But Cloud Strife wasn’t normal. 

Mysterious? Yes. 

Handsome? Undoubtedly, to her eternal confusion. 

But normal? 

No way. 

He never had been, even back in Nibelheim. Normal kids didn’t spend their summers alone indoors, reading about war. Normal adults didn’t casually threaten stranger’s lives with utensils. The life of a SOLDIER was known to be filled with death and destruction and that’s what attracted most candidates. Whatever event or atrocities could inspire one to _quit_ must have been…

“What happened to you?” Tifa whispered to her dripping reflection. 

“Tifa?” She was pulled from her reverie by a knock on the door. “Can I come in?” 

“In a minute,” she called back, turning on the faucet again to wash her face in earnest.

It didn’t matter what had happened to Cloud. The past was the past and if she hadn’t oh-so-carefully suppressed certain parts of hers, she wouldn’t have been unable to function as the sole survivor of Nibelheim. Maybe he felt the exact same. 

All she could do now is help him cobble together a future. 

After throwing on a pair of drawstring shorts and a cotton tank top, Tifa instinctively fluffed her hair before stepping towards the door. 

This was the awkward part. 

Though Cloud was every bit the gentleman and had no complaints regarding their cramped studio or sleeping on the floor, the getting ready for bed routine for two adults of the opposite gender was inevitably tense. Even Cloud’s stoicism floundered that first night when she had asked him to turn around while she changed. It had taken a mere twenty seconds, but the air in the room seemed to thicken in that time, the restless tapping of his foot on the floorboards like a wardrum, prompting action. When he stripped off his navy sweater prior to climbing under the covers, Tifa full on walked into her punching bag while brushing her hair.

Cloud Strife, though still slight of frame, definitely wasn’t a scrawny fourteen-year-old anymore. She had the bruise on her temple to prove it. 

The second night, Cloud had wisely excused himself on an errand as the sun began to set. The tradition apparently continued as she opened the door to find him clutching a paper bag most likely filled with some random, cheap staple. Yesterday, it was crackers. Today it was-

“I noticed your toothpaste is almost finished,” he said, offering up the bag with his eyes diverted. 

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver,” she said, accepting the gift, even though she already had two tubes in stock behind the mirror. “Seriously. I owe you one.”

She ducked to try to meet his eyes but he was clearly avoiding them. Both knew she was talking about his intervention at the ramen stall but, despite being confident at the time, he was now radiating shame. Recognizing this, Tifa eased off the subject. She added it to the ever growing list of what they eventually needed to talk about. Later. Once he was settled. 

“Maybe tomorrow you could grab some shampoo? We’re running low.”

Still not meeting her face, he nodded with clear gratitude for the assignment. She imagined him agonizing at the corner store for what would be worth spending his measly gil stash without crowding her small, well organized space, all to give her a few minutes of privacy. A wave of affection swelled in her as she stepped aside to give him room to enter. “I’m about ready to call it in. Shower’s all yours if you want.”

“Thanks, Tifa.” That twitch of his lips again, just the corner, set her heart racing as he strode towards and into the small shower room. With her back against the opposite wall, she listened to the thump of his heavy uniform hitting the floor and closed her eyes to stop from glaring at the steel door and willing it to turn to glass.

Breathing a tad more quickly, she dropped onto her bed, clutching the paper bag to her chest as the sound of running water engulfed the space. Walls were especially thin in Stargazer heights and as hard as she tried not, it was impossible not to hear and therefore envision his movements as he went through a routine cleansing. The thump of the shampoo bottle as he coaxed the last drops from it. The scratch of his nails over his scalp as he lathered up those gravity defying, blonde spikes. The sputter of his lips as he blew the accumulating droplets away. The wet slapping, bordering on obscene, of the washcloth as he rubbed away the layer of sweat and grime that accumulated daily on all slums dwellers. 

“Dammit,” she muttered, shaking her head to void the images of droplets shimmering on pale skin with defined musculature. 

This was so stupid. She had just watched the man nearly kill one of her best customers for the sin of being overly friendly. He continued to have those weird, paralyzing headaches every so often, especially when she asked questions of how he came to be here.

He was sick. He needed help. 

Lusting after such a guy, an old friend in a tight spot with some possible brain damage, was especially inappropriate. Besides, if she prioritized finding him his own place to stay, she could always take care of her frustrations appropriately. Alone. 

Thus, with all the resolve she could muster, Tifa threw herself back onto her sheets and curled up facing the wall, refusing to allow herself even the small thrill of watching him climb into bed, damp and shirtless. 

Efficient as always, Cloud was heard sliding into the sleeping bag not five minutes later. As had been the case for the last three nights and counting, she struggled to drift off despite the exhaustion, all too aware of his body heat only a few feet but eons away. Only when her eyelids began to droop was Tifa’s guard down enough to continue fantasizing. Not about the mentally disturbed man squatting in her crappy apartment, but about the one he could have been if he hadn’t joined the military. About the woman - the life - that would have been hers if Nibelheim hadn’t burned. It wasn’t uncommon for sixteen year olds to marry in their admittedly (compared to Midgar) backwater town. By now, she probably would have had a kid or two. Maybe a third on the way, if only due to boredom.

That thought of all things finally broke the dam and she chuckled into the darkness. If Cloud heard it, he didn’t react. She glanced over at the outline of his back and noted how still it was. Too still to be natural, but she was grateful for his ignorance. Having an impenetrable facade must be nice sometimes. 

Tifa Lockhart. A mother. How ridiculous that seemed now, as a slum’s barmaid with split knuckles, laying in her overcrowded, dingy apartment. 

Who was she to judge Cloud for not being “normal”. As if she could claim such a label herself. 

Besides, she reminded herself while burying her cheek deeper into the pillow, she wasn’t aiming for a husband anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. 

She was aiming for revenge. One that could be conveniently delivered as a side order to saving the planet.

In a few day’s time, starting with the ticking package slumbering in the underbelly of her bar, she would have it. 

* * *

***Author’s Note*:** I am at it again. Three months obsessing over the pixels saturated with pure awesome that is the Final Fantasy VII Remake and I had to start writing about my favorite couple again. Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me and all the kind reviews/comments I received over the years for “Wait For It”. Hope you enjoy this new one. 

****FUTURE MATURE CONTENT WARNING**** : I am older now (though not much wiser) than I was when I wrote “Wait For It” and my writing/reading preferences have...let’s say “reformed”. Please note that though this fic will be pure Cloti fluff and character exploration, filling in the gaps throughout the remake’s main storyline, it will feature mature themes and content. I purposefully didn’t put any in this first chapter so as to give people a heads up while it was still teen friendly. If that’s not your jam, I understand and hope to see you in another story! I try to keep things tasteful and honest to the characters, meaning it’ll be full of cute awkwardness. I don’t think it’ll get to the point of “explicit” rating since it’s not my thing to be overly descriptive/realistic. Please let me know if otherwise. Thanks for reading and, if you feel so inclined, I really love comments/reviews as they encourage me to write faster :). 

Also, special shout-out to the amazing fellow-fans on the Final Heaven Discord server. It was surreal to go online there and have so many people recognize my pen name from a fic I wrote nearly a decade ago. This one’s for you! 


	2. Latch

_“Be thankful for closed doors, detours and roadblocks. They protect you from paths and places not meant for you.”_

**\-- Mandy Hale**

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 2: Latch_

There was grenadine in her hair. 

It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t make it any less repugnant. Tequila sunrises were officially off the specials menu starting tomorrow. 

Locking the door to 7th Heaven behind her, Tifa poked at the stickiest patch and cringed upon discovering that it covered almost the entire right side of her scalp. The best she could hope for was that she didn’t attract too many flies before making it to the apartment.

Wrapping her arms around herself to ward away the December, post-midnight chill, Tifa began the three-block journey at a light jog which, within a couple of steps, converted to a full sprint. When Stargazer Heights came into view - still in one piece, thank goodness - she could confess that it wasn’t only the temptation of a shower that spurred her. 

Today was the fourth day since Cloud had staggered into her life but the first she had had no choice but to leave him alone for such a long stretch as she resumed her full bar duties. Jessie, Biggs and Wedge had _tried_ to keep the business (Avalanche’s primary finance source) not only afloat but up to her admittedly lofty standards. For that she would always be appreciative. However there was no denying, especially upon seeing the evidence that morning, that bar managing was neither their passion nor forte. Nor even bare competency level. 

The cash was six hundred gil over, every inch of the kitchen counter and backsplash decorated with various shades of mystery Sauce and her carefully measured liquor storage about two and a half bottles short. Jessie at least admitted to that last one. Using the jigger when mixing cocktails was deemed too time consuming and on one or two of the slower evenings, she had poured herself and an especially cute patron some free samples. 

Tifa always eyeballed the measurements, why couldn’t she? 

There wasn’t enough time or patience in the world to explain. At least the mishandled cash combined with depleted stock somehow magically resulted in a balanced book by the end, so she couldn’t truly complain. 

“Cloud?” bouncing upon her heels, Tifa knuckles rapped upon her own door in a sing-song pattern. ”Are you awake?” 

If it had been any other roommate she would have quietly let herself in, but she had since learned two things about Cloud Strife. 1 - that he needed very little sleep and would most likely be waiting for her and 2 - if by some miracle he was in bed, she really didn’t want to take him by surprise. It could be fatal. 

“Yeah. It’s open.” Came his muffled voice a few seconds later. Tifa grinned shyly as she pushed the door open. 

“Hey you,” she greeted before leaning back against the frame. Cloud was sitting on his sleeping bag, knees to his chest, with a book in his hands. The glow of the desk lamp highlighted the definition of his bare arms and nearly made Tifa hum in appreciation. 

It was undeniably nice to have someone - anyone - to come home to, even if only temporarily. Perhaps it was something she could get used to. 

“Did you have a good day?”

Cloud shrugged, placing the book down beside him. “Kind of. A little restless.” She noted that he only had a few pages left, implying that he was a fast reader. Here she had thought he couldn’t get any more endearing. 

“Restless, yes. I can imagine,” she said, forcing her attention back onto the track of him becoming a productive member of society. “By the way, I asked around but jobs for unknowns are kinda scarce at the moment. I promise, once I’m back into the swing of things at the bar and get the chance to talk you up a bit, the work will pile up.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, slumping against the wall. 

Tifa felt the tension accumulating and hurried to change the subject. She nodded toward the book’s dark silhouette. “I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy. Anything interesting?”

Cloud shrugged again. It seemed to be his communication method of choice. “Not really. Something random I found while cleaning.”

“Cleaning what?” she asked, heading to the sink to wash her hands and begin her nightly routine. A glance in the mirror reminded her of the predicament of her hair, from which she could probably wring out a brand new cocktail, so she grabbed a brush, wetting it to attack the worst of the tangles. 

“The apartment. Had nothing better to do. Hope that’s okay.”

Glancing down at the sink, she did notice it was missing the layer of scum she rarely got around to scrubbing, if only because of her hectic work schedule. So he cleans too. How quaint. “You won’t hear me complaining. Thanks!”

“It’s nothing. Military habit,” he explained succinctly. “Found the book under your mattress after I had run out of things to polish, so-”

“What!?” Eyes wide with panic, Tifa twirled around with her hands against the sink behind her for support. No. There was no way. “Wh-why were you looking under my mattress?”

Surprised by her tone, Cloud’s brows furrowed together. He looked like a child being scolded for breaking something that he hadn’t even seen let alone touched. “I needed to sweep under the bed. Was that...wrong?”

Gods. If that book on the ground beside him, nearly complete, was the one she thought it was...

How _mortifying._

She waited for him to cock an eyebrow or curl his lip in a smirk. Something to denote that he knew very well why the book was hidden there and what she likely used it for. But Cloud, as usual, failed to display the expected. He merely blinked, genuinely confused as to why she was so upset, patiently waiting for an explanation. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to give him one. “I, uhh. Sorry. I know you were trying to help. I’m just a little - okay, _a lot_ \- embarrassed.”

The bewildered expression remained. After all, it was a random text, not her underwear drawer he had infiltrated. In a rare instance of straightforwardness, he voiced his feelings. “I don’t understand. Why?”

“Well, I suppose you’ve read it by now. Right?”

How she prayed the answer was “no”. Her wish went unfulfilled as he nodded. 

“Yes.”

“...All of it?”

“Ninety four percent. I’m at the part after the ransom trade where that commander guy takes her to-”

“I know, I know! No need to say it. Geez.” Blowing her bangs off of her forehead, she clasped her hands together and tried to figure out how best to approach this. To explain without seeming like a sad, desperate spinster. 

After a few seconds deliberation, she settled upon the same excuse he had been using since meeting nearly a week ago. That is to say, none. Don’t ask, don’t tell. If Cloud couldn’t guess why she hid a saucy novel under her bed and why it would be considered private, then he probably didn’t care. He had been starved for entertainment and it was the only source that existed. Simple. 

For the first time, she was grateful for the gaps in his general social standards. More like chasms, actually. 

“Never mind,” she said with a fleeting laugh. If one didn’t choose to find the situation funny, then it would just be horrifying. “I’m sorry you had to waste your day, that’s all. A job will come soon. I know it.”

“Mmm. Sure. Thanks.” She was rewarded with another one of those corner-lip twitches. Though she could swear, this time, it raised a whole half millimeter higher than yesterday. 

Maybe by spring she’d get a smirk. In a year or two, a grin. 

Baby steps. 

Tifa attempted to run her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit, but the sticky patch impeded her efforts.

“Ugh. I guess I should take care of this disaster,” she said, holding up her hair and assuming he noticed how it lifted as one, crusty piece. “It’s pretty late. We can talk more in the morning and come up with a plan, maybe? I’m guessing you don’t want to lounge around another day.” 

“That depends.” Cloud crossed his arms over his chest and slunk further against the wall. “Do you have any more of those books?”

Tifa nearly swallowed her tongue at the implication. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times as she took in his ever passive expression. 

No teasing. No haughtiness. Just the eternally inquisitive Cloud. 

It was too late and she was far too tired to dissect what it could mean. Instead, true to the hour’s mood, all she gave a brief shrug before heading to the shower stall and latching it behind her with extra deliberation. If she had lingered any longer, she may have spontaneously combusted. 

She completed her usual routine as if pulled by strings, not daring to let her mind wander beyond the extra shampooing it took to dispel the syrup. When she returned to the room, rubbing a towel aggressively over her scalp, Cloud was curled into his sleeping back with his back to her. The book lay closed on her desk, as eye catching and threatening as any explosive. Either he had abandoned it or the last pages had been consumed while she washed. She hoped it was the former, though that was doubtful. That finale scene was the sauciest of all. 

As she climbed under the sheet as quietly as possible, she could only pray he didn’t read too much into how dog-eared those pages were. 

* * *

The next morning, Tifa introduced Cloud to Barret. 

Well not so much _introduced_ as barely kept them from killing one another. 

The big hearted and bodied man had started frantically pounding on her door at five thirty that morning. She had been barely conscious when they had already deemed one another a threat. 

“Tifa!” Barret bellowed, two decibels higher than would be considered polite at that hour. “Get your ass up, girl! We got a problem!” 

Groaning, Tifa brought a hand to her forehead, already dreading the inevitable lecture from Marle for disturbing her other tenants. She may be the old landlady’s favorite, but in thinking of her like a granddaughter she also never hesitated to scold her like one. 

Before the barmaid could even register the voice’s identity, a flash of blue caught her eye. Her eyes popped open, fully roused thanks to an adrenaline influx. 

“Cloud, don’t!” she hissed, sitting up so abruptly that her head spun. The ex-SOLDIER had his back against the side of the doorframe, one hand on the knob and the other gripping his raised sword, poised to cut down the intruder. That he was wearing nothing other than his fatigue pants did not escape her notice but she swallowed a squeak of surprise. Now was not the time. 

“I’m coming in!” Barret announced before she managed to untangle herself from the sheets. 

“No! Barret, wait!” 

Too late. 

The door was open and there was a sword at one’s throat and a gun barrel at the other’s head before her toes touched the floor. 

Shit. 

“Daddy, no!” It was Marlene of all people that avoided Cloud’s brains and Barret’s jugular from becoming her new and only wall decorations. The four-year-old darted between her adopted father’s legs and yanked on his arm, redirecting a bullet that was poised to kill into the floor instead of flesh, splintering the boards. 

Dammit. Now she definitely wouldn’t hear the end of it from Marle. 

“Cloud! Barret! Both of you, **calm down**!” It was her “mom” voice that finally made them take a breath and assess the situation. Cloud and Barret glared at each other for the most testosterone saturated ten seconds that ever existed, the echo of the bullet ringing in all their ears, before acknowledging they were both well-known to the woman whose residence they were on the cusp of destroying. Eventually, with more hesitation than would be considered polite, weapons were lowered as a mere symbolic gesture. They were still as ready to kill as ever. 

The three of them may have starved and died in an eternal holding pattern if it wasn’t for a little girl’s whimper. Marlene to the rescue again as all eyes were pulled to the figure in the pink dress cowering behind Tifa’s punching bag, clenching the crimson fabric between her fingers as if it were a massive stuffed animal. 

“Oh, my sweet girl. Don’t you worry your pretty little head now.” In two strides, Barret crossed the room and had Marlene scooped into his massive arms. “Everything’s fine. I promise. Right, Tifa?”

Over Marlene’s shivering shoulder, he glared at his friend, eyes darting towards the SOLDIER in the background who was replacing the rest of his uniform from where it had been folded on a chair. 

“Of course everything is fine,” Tifa said, placing a soothing hand on the little girl’s hair. “Just a little misunderstanding. Daddy didn’t expect to see my friend here. This-” she gestured to the aloof figure now fully dressed and leaning against the desk with his arms across his chest, massive sword clipped to his back, “is Cloud.”

“Cloud?” Sniffing away all traces of fear, Marlene lifted her head to regard him, dark eyes wide with curiosity. “That’s a funny name.”

Tifa chuckled, she couldn’t help it, glancing at Cloud in apology. He didn’t move a muscle. “Marlene,” she chastised halfheartedly, “that’s a little rude to say to someone you just met, no?”

Her expression fell, cheeks burning bright pink. “Yes. I’m-I’m sorry Mr. Cloud.”

The objectively adorable little girl glanced up on him from under thick lashes, starved for any sign of forgiveness, but Cloud was in no mood to indulge. He continued glaring as if she were any other nosy stranger. A few seconds under his scrutiny and her lips started to quiver. Soon enough, she had her face buried back into her father’s chest.

“Real nice, Mr. Smooth Talker.” Barret’s impression of Cloud did not improve after knowing his name, as he rubbed comforting circles into Marlene’s back. “Next time why don’t you just hiss at the kid and speed things along, huh?” 

“Hey.” Something having triggered, Cloud took a step forward to stare the older man down. Or up, considering that Barret was at least a foot taller. “No one asked you to barge in here, guns blazing. This is private property.”

“Like hell it is. Tifa, who is this fool and how do you get him to shut up?”

Tifa could only swivel back and forth between them, at a loss of how to de-escalate. “I cant-I don’t-”

“Even if you owned the building,” Undeterred, Cloud moved even closer until they were practically toe to toe, “renters have rights. Unless you have a warrant-”

“A _warrant_? Seriously? Hahahah!!” Shaking his head, Barret sidestepped Cloud, none too gently shoving his shoulder on the way passed, before gingerly placing Marlene on the desk chair. Without missing a beat, he opened the drawer and pulled out the coloring book, crayons and a missing-armed doll, clearly stored there especially for her. He glared over his shoulder to ensure Cloud noticed the set up before turning his attention back to Marlene. “Draw me a pretty picture, baby girl. Maybe of our family?”

Her smile widening to a near blinding degree at the prospect of an assignment, Marlene nodded and got to work. It allowed Barret to join Tifa and Cloud who were fidgeting in the opposite corner of the room near her punching bag. 

“First thing I do today is get a better lock,” Cloud muttered. Tifa chuckled, though it was a tad too high pitched to be natural. 

“Look here, asshole,” Barret whispered tersely, adjusting the barrel of the gun-arm prosthetic as he spoke. “My girl Tifa here is allowed her hard-earned fun. But if you think for a second that, as the three-drink minimum, you have any more right to be here than I, then-”

“It’s not like that!” Tifa interrupted, blushing so furiously that her hands automatically slapped onto her cheeks. She glanced up at Cloud, hoping for some similarly mortified support, but he seemed to be in no rush to correct the implication stemmed from his half dressed, early morning presence in her room. She was on her own. “Cloud’s just a friend. From Nibelheim, our hometown. He’s staying with me until he finds some work, sleeping on the floor. See!” 

Gesturing frantically towards the disheveled sleeping bag and pillow by the side of her bed, Tifa prayed he believed her. Not that it really mattered with Barret of all people. He had his own dalliances once in a blue moon that were well shrouded for the sake of the child he was raising. Though she knew he wouldn’t be one to judge, still Tifa felt a compulsion for him to acknowledge the truth and not think less of her. Especially because the man’s eyes were of course glued to Cloud’s clothing: the telltale navy sweater, fatigue pants and embossed harness that marked him as SOLDIER. 

Tifa knew very well that even had Cloud appeared on the doorstep with flowers and formally asked permission to escort her to dinner following a strict curfew, Barret would have slammed the door in his face. If only because of that uniform. 

Still, the revelation that they weren’t intimate eased the tension slightly. Upon scanning the makeshift sleeping space, the creases in Barret’s forehead smoothed. Not completely, but enough that she no longer feared a new window being carved out by bullets.

“Barret.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, Tifa stepped between the two men. “You said there was a problem?” 

It was as good a segue as any, both needing to focus on tonight’s mission. She hadn’t talked about it much to Cloud yet, but he had gleaned enough to be aware of Avalanche’s existence and that she, her landlord and many other of her slums acquaintances were involved. It hadn’t deterred him in the slightest. In fact, the evening before last he had seemed genuinely disturbed as she talked about how all the flowers and grass had withered over the past few years and it was undoubtedly linked to increased production from the mako reactors. 

“Yeah,” Barret continued, throwing Cloud a distrustful sneer. “Just that...Mrs. H, you know. Tonight she was supposed to watch Marlene, but her daughter out in Junon went into labor early, so,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “She’s out of town. I can’t leave Marlene with just _anyone._ Just in case...in case something…” Another glance at Cloud and his brows furrowed deeply once more. “Can we talk outside? SOLDIER boy here is giving me the creeps.”

“Cloud,” the SOLDIER-boy in question reminded him. “And I’m not a SOLDIER anymore. I quit.”

Barret scoffed. “Once a Shinra grunt, always a Shinra grunt I say.” 

“That’s your opinion. The same could be said about coal miners.”

Both Tifa and Barret’s jaws dropped at this. “How did-” he spun toward Tifa with accusation in his eyes. “What did you tell-”

“It’s the tattoo,” Cloud interrupted, gesturing vaguely to the flaming skull on his bicep. “We were trained on how to identify insurgents via such markers. Few artists can pull off smooth curves, the style is distinctly mid-continent and even fewer can mix that maroon color. I’d wager North Corel.”

Barret could only flap his lips, turning towards Tifa with surprise, Cloud in annoyance, then Marlene with awe and back to Tifa, absolutely dumbfounded. “Where the hell did you find this guy, Teef?”

“It’s a long story.” Unable to do much else, she merely chuckled, clasping her hands behind her back and balancing on her heels. “But we can trust him. I promise. Cloud is-”

Their eyes met and Tifa felt her chest constrict. She was taking a gamble here. More than with just her heart, with all of their lives. Still, something in her soul insisted that this was a risk she should not only be willing to take, one that she had to. “We can trust him,” she reiterated in as stable a tone as she could muster. 

Barret hesitated, gaze doing the rounds of everyone in the room once more and then scratching the back of his head. Eventually, he dropped his hand in defeat.

“Whatever. I don’t have time for this. What am I gonna do about Marlene, huh? Everything’s ready. We can’t send the tech crew without a shit-ton of defense. Those Shinra bastards put guards at every entry point, with random cycling patrols. Love those geeks to death but in a gunfight, they’re about as useful as a bowl of limp noodles.”

Tifa bit her lip, considering the sparse options. “What about Marle? She can-”

“If things go south, if they find out where we came from, Marle will have this entire sector resting on her shoulders when shit hits the fan. We can’t ask this of her.” 

Nodding, Tifa arrived at the same conclusion. “Okay. What about if I stay behind with Marlene? I do want to be there with you all and help fight, but I’m the least necessary. And you know I’d take her in as my own if...” she let the sentence drop. That was one of their Avalanche rules: prepare for the worst, but don’t dare talk about it. 

With a sigh of defeat, Barret nodded. “You definitely are and I’m grateful you’re willing. But that doesn’t solve our lack of defense problem. I need someone to watch my back.”

“Then we postpone. There’s no rush. We can-”

“Yes there’s a rush, Teef! Didn’t you hear the reports? Not one damn living blade of grass left in all of Sector 2. We need-”

“We _need_ to re-asses, make sure no one gets hurt! There’s no point-”

“The point is goddamn oxygen. If you don’t think-”

“If you don’t have the people to do this safely, we shouldn’t be-”

“What about me?”

Their shouting match was interrupted by Cloud stepping in, looking up at Barret this time with determination instead of annoyance, blue eyes flashing with a hint of green. It was enough to remind Barret of what he was and what he is capable of. Where most people would flinch, Barret seemed to get angrier at the reminder. 

“What about you?” he muttered, no more friendly than when he first saw him, half naked in the bedroom of one of his best friends.

“You need muscle. It’s the most basic of my skills. It would be stupid not to consider hiring me.”

“Oh yeah? Well maybe I don’t want the type of _‘muscle’,_ ” Barret glanced down at Cloud’s puny, at least in comparison, form and his mouth twisted into a sneer “that you have to offer. Maybe I don’t like what it’ll cost us.”

“It’ll cost you 3000 gil,” Cloud stated without missing a beat. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

At this, Barret laughed a full belly laugh. “You’ve got to be shitting me? 3000 gil? I could hire me five Wall Market lowlifes as human shields for that price.”

“Perhaps. But it would be a lot less stealthy, meaning more guards up your ass quicker. You need me.”

Barret stepped closer. “I don’t need anything from you, punk.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Tifa placed a hand on each of their shoulders, pushing to force a civil amount of space between them again. With the way they were staring each other down, she half expected one or both to lean in for a kiss. “Yes, you need each other. Just- see sense for a second, please! Cloud…” She squeezed his bicep to garner his full attention. “I know we’re asking a lot and I know that you’re worth it but 3000 is simply beyond our means. Best we can do is 1500.”

“Tifa!” Barret screeched in protest. “This scrawny sack of shit doesn’t-”

“2500,” Cloud cut in, looking at Tifa and nothing else. Something uncoiled within her as he at least showed a willingness to negotiate. Lucky for Avalanche, she was well practiced in the art of the bargain. 

“2000, final offer,” she stated, knowing it was a stretch but still possible if she called in a few tabs. 

Cloud smirked, glancing up at Barret who, despite every cell in his body wanting to interrupt, stayed still. “Deal.” 

They shook hands. 

Just like that, Tifa had wrangled her damaged childhood friend into a potential suicide mission. 

She _had_ promised him a job. If he didn’t find one soon, he’d leave and get swallowed up in some other nefarious labor out of sheer desperation. As long as he was here in Sector 7, she could prod him to see a doctor about those headaches, make sure he ate well, slept enough, etc., steer his bizarre naivety away from scams and towards legitimate, fairly paid commissions. All-in-all, technically, she was helping. 

...Right? 

“FINISHED!” Marlene called from the desk, waving a piece of paper in her hands. All but Cloud jumped at the sound, having forgotten she was there. 

“Let me see, sweetie.” Sweeping her up onto his shoulder, Barret shimmied the artwork out of her hands. “Oh wow, this is the best one yet, isn’t it?” With a haughty smirk, he presented the piece to Cloud, practically shoving it in his face. “This one’s going on the fridge for sure. _Our_ beautiful family.”

The drawing featured a rounded brown blob of a character, obviously Barret, and a smaller one with black hair and bright crimson eyes that took up 2/3rd of her face. Tifa. Four other stick figures held hands in a chain: Marlene in a pink dress and three others with red headgear that Cloud couldn’t pretend to recognize. 

The point was clear enough. Cloud was not part of the inner circle. The _family_. 

Not now. Not ever. 

“Let’s go get you some breakfast baby girl,” Barret said, kissing her foot and inspiring a giggle. “And you, Merc. I’ll see you at 7th Heaven to go over the details. 1700 hours. I’ll be cutting 100 out of your pay for every second you’re late.” With that, they left the apartment. 

As soon as the door closed, tension drained out of the room like a pin-pricked balloon. Tifa felt she needed another shower just to wash away the nervous sweats. 

“Why did he call me Merc?” Cloud asked before her heart rate had a chance to normalize. 

“Huh? Oh, it’s umm...it’s short for mercenary. Someone who works odd, usually violent jobs around the sectors for cash and never stays in one place long.”

“So it’s his way of telling me I don’t belong,” Cloud guessed with a gruff breath. 

“It’s not like that, Barret’s just…” Shaking her head, she decided she was too tired for excuses, running both hands through her hair to the back of her neck. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Weren’t you going to do it if it wasn’t for the kid?”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing. It’s a job. I’ll be fine.”

Silence as he headed back to the desk and picked up his socks; the least important clothing item he hadn’t prioritized donning during Barret’s invasion. At the action, Tifa was reminded that she was still only wearing only her threadbare sleep shorts and tank top. Her arms instinctively rose to wrap around her chest in what she hoped was a blasé manner. This was not an outfit intended for polite company, especially considering how chilly it was in the room. 

“I’ll find a place soon,” Cloud announced into the heavy silence while lacing up his boots. “With the money from this job, I bet I can find something decent in Sector 1 or 4.”

Tifa frowned. In all her worrying about securing a job, she hadn’t considered that maybe he’d want to build some savings through living in one of the cheaper, rowdier districts. “You really don’t have to go anywhere. You can stay as long as you-”

“People talk,” he interrupted, eyes wandering sideways toward their bedding arrangement. “I don’t- I wouldn’t want-”

“What? To tarnish my reputation?” She giggled at the very notion. As if anyone in the slums had a reputation worth enough to gamble with. “This isn’t Nibelheim. No one cares. It doesn’t matter.”

“It did today.”

“What do you mean?”

“With Barret. He...you...” With a short breath, he gestured to his crumbled pillow. “You told him I slept on the floor.”

Tifa attempted to bypass the subject. “Well, you _do_ sleep on the floor. Now do you want eggs or pancakes for breakfast?”

“You needed him to know where I slept,” Cloud continued, not taking the bait. “Why?”

“Well, because,” Tifa pushed her hair behind her ears, blushing so furiously she felt like she was under direct summer sun. “Barret is...protective and, since I care for Marlene so often, anyone I..that I-”

“Sleep with?” he suggested with barely a raised eyebrow. Gods did she hate how he could turn off his embarrassment gene at will. Perhaps whatever hits he had taken to the head over the years had decommissioned it permanently.

“Am close to,” she corrected “could affect her. Though, admittedly, he is a little too comfortable barging in here expecting me to be decent. Bet he’ll be a little more careful as of today.”

“I hope so too. Gods forbid anyone catch you being...indecent.” 

A final adjustment of his harness and Cloud was ready to conquer the day. As he headed for the door, sword clipped to his back as usual, his arm brushed against hers when he passed. A few days ago she would have considered the touch a mere accident, a by product of tight quarters. Now she knew that nothing Cloud did was ever without purpose. 

“I need to prep a few things for the mission. I’ll see you at the bar. I’m thinking eggs today, if that’s alright?” He closed the door behind him, leaving Tifa a shivering tangle of nerves planted in the center of the room. 

What was that about? 

Later, as she went through the motions of her morning routine, Tifa had no choice but to swallow her curiosity. Tonight was too important for any of them to be distracted. 

Her final thought on the matter was that Cloud Strife better survive this mission. For it would suck on so many levels if he was gone before she figured out what the hell was - or could be - going on between them.

* * *

****Author’s Note**** : Thank you for the lovely reviews I’ve received so far on this new piece. Thank you especially to the people on the Final Heaven Discord server peeps who are so very kind, supportive and as crazy Cloti fans as I am. You make writing these things fun again, which makes me update faster! Till next time. As always, I truly do appreciate comments if you feel so inclined. Cheers.


	3. Gridlock

_“Doors will open to those bold enough to knock.”_

**\-- Tony A. Gaskins Jr.**

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 3: Gridlock_

When Marle offered the next door apartment #202 free of charge, Tifa was more skeptical than anything. A lecture regarding Barret and Cloud’s predawn clash had yet to materialize and the landlady wouldn’t hear of Tifa squandering her precious time off to repair shot up floorboards. Instead she waved all apologies away like the flies buzzing about their heads before slapping a key into her palm. No string attached. At least if Tifa didn’t count the wink and casual inquiry if this ‘friend’ of hers was handsome. 

Marle was too damn perceptive for her own good.

The Tifa of one year ago would have refused such a lavish gift, knowing that the retiree lived off the measly rents and now more than half the rooms would be occupied by freeloaders. Today’s Tifa, however, forced a humbled thanks. They needed this. If life on the ground floor had taught her anything, it was to grab whatever scraps one could scrounge and, ideally, toss a few back whenever possible. 

Aiming to pay it forward, with the previous night’s tips burning a hole in her pocket, Tifa spent her break gathering essentials at the thrift shop. By the time she was done relocating the few items Cloud had collected at her place, #202 was spartan but comfortable. There was a towel, a washcloth, a blanket, some toiletries, a semi-functioning TV, a trash bin, a single serving dish set and a materia lockbox. Enough for a man of simple needs to rest his head. 

She was sure he would like it. If only because it wouldn't cost him a single gil. Cloud would have his wish of a bargain, private living space and she would get her (unspoken) desire of having him remain not only in the same Sector but practically within arms’ reach. It was more than she could have ever hoped for. More than she deserved. 

Marle was thanked again, enthusiastically now that the shock had worn off, as she made her way to 7th Heaven for the evening shift. 

“Don’t you worry about it, honey,” she said with that same, knowing grin from where she perched on her terrace like an ever-watching gargoyle, stroking her canine companion. “Here on the ground floor, we take care of one another, don’t we?”

Tifa almost pointed out that she and Cloud had never formally met and therefore Marle had no obligations to him, but she didn’t want to look the gift horse in the mouth. Whatever reasons Marle had for offering the apartment, Tifa felt only appreciation. 

She couldn’t wait to tell him. 

The dinner rush went by as usual, except with the more stressful factors of not having the Avalanche crew around for basic support like wiping down tables and keeping Marlene entertained. It was quite the acrobatic feat, one hand balancing a tray of drinks, the other stirring a vat of chilli, her foot prodding away the edge of the little girl’s dress when it got too close to the heater as she gave her opinions on which colors work best for unicorn hair. Stressful though it was, she was relieved by the chaos as it kept her mind off the mission, the danger, in progress at that very moment. Five people she cared for most in the world were tiptoeing onto the playing field of her most hated entity, up against a near infinite number of disposable, gun wielding grunts and literal killing machines. 

_Don’t think about it,_ she told herself with a deep breath. Table 8 needed napkins and Johnny was leaning over the bar trying to sneak a bottle after she had already cut him off. Again. 

There wasn’t the luxury of time with which to panic. 

It was around eleven when she made last call, a bit earlier than usual and there was some grumbling, but a gesture toward Marlene nodding off on a nearby bar stool was all the excuse needed. Most departed with a generous tip and no hitches. Except Johnny. That one she had to drag to his feet and prop over the terrace bannister like a drunken rag doll. 

Again. 

One of his posse or family would find him and bring him home. With bright red hair like that, he was hard to miss, even in the dead of night. 

The neon OPEN sign had just been switched off when Marlene started pulling on her skirt hem, as awake as ever despite the hour. 

“Daddy’s gonna be home soon, right Tifa?” she asked, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Can we go outside to surprise him? Pretty puh-leaassee!”

Tifa glanced at the clock. If all had gone to plan, the team would have caught the last train down from the plate, meaning they should be showing up any minute. That was _if_ things went perfectly. Staring out the window towards the dirt road leading to the station, Tifa felt her chest grow heavy. The plan had been to put Marlene to bed so that, had the worst case scenario occurred, at least she would have time to collect herself and put escape plan E into motion. The TV blaring news behind the bar had yet to display one hint of any topside drama, so she had no idea yet in which direction to flee or where to bunker. 

It would have been wiser, safer, to insist the little girl sleep. Nevertheless, Tifa was equally if not more eager to keep on the lookout. To the point where the thought of taking her eyes off the plaza and heading to the back rooms for the twenty minutes it would take to get Marlene settled seemed like a Herculean feat. 

“Sure thing, sweetie.” Bringing Marlene up onto her hip, she shouldered open the front door and took a grateful breath of the rotten-egg tinged air. Outside, Johnny’s father gave a little wave of appreciation as he shuffled his comatose son away in a wheelbarrow and Tifa smiled in return. The staircase was now available for them to sit and wait. 

And wait. 

...And wait. 

What had probably been only twenty or so minutes stretched into what felt like days as she and Marlene played eye spy, then thumb wrestling and then hopscotch to keep themselves from worrying. It soon proved to be too much for the little girl and her eyelids dropped midway through the sentence “something that is brown”. Tifa counted her blessing for that small miracle. Here in the slums, _everything_ was brown. 

After she had fallen asleep against Tifa’s thigh, the barmaid was left alone with her thoughts for a handful of minutes that became increasingly strained. Especially when Betty’s dad sprinted past the bar entrance, screaming for someone to turn on one of the large screens overlooking the plaza. 

There were a few seconds of static and then she saw it: 

Chaos in all dimensions. 

Fire, chunks of cement, burst pipes, and more fire. 

It was _everywhere_. 

Tifa, along with everyone else lingering nearby, gasped at the carnage that had once been Sector 8. The bombing had obviously been a success but a little too much of one in her opinion. Had the plans changed without her knowledge? Why were so many residential buildings and roadways destroyed when the plan had been to only affect the reactor core? Where the hell were her friends? And Cloud...

There wasn’t much time to flounder in paranoia because, beneath all the shocked murmuring, there was also laughter coming from the direction of the station. Distinct, bellowing laughter. 

Barret was back. So were Jessie, Biggs, Wedge and...oh, thank Gods, there was Cloud. Cloud walking confidently, tall, as handsome as ever, eyes practically glowing in the dark and focused solely on her. 

She thanked every deity she could think to name and even a few she was pretty sure were corporate mascots. 

“Marlene,” she whispered, rubbing the little girl’s back to rouse her. “Look.”

* * *

Cloud liked the apartment. 

Not that he would ever say so out loud, but there was something in the way he took in the space, the rigidness in his posture slackening, that proved it. He also chose not to make a fuss about not getting his full payment right away, most likely because rent and privacy were no longer pressing concerns. Once he helped her do the filter exchange rounds tomorrow, he could spend the money on something selfish and silly, like a second pair of socks or a kettle. 

As Tifa brushed and braided her hair that night, involuntarily humming a Loveless ballad as she did so, it was hard to feel guilty about the destruction of Mako Reactor 1 and all the havoc they had caused. Oh, it was for sure coming. She sensed the horror swelling within her like a tsunami and was sure to become a shuddering, winded mess when it hit. For now though, with the scent of the flower Cloud had given her (where does one even find live plants nowadays?) still lingering on her fingertips, she chose to focus on the positives. 

He was here. He was staying. Against all odds, she had gleaned enough time to maybe get to know him again and better, to gently encourage him to see a doctor about those strange headaches and gaps in his memory and maybe, all in due time, to rekindle...something.

Biggs and Wedge had already agreed to let him join The Watch. It was only a matter of time before jobs piled up, as promised, and he could start planning a stable life, maybe help her out at the bar once in a while. Maybe, if they made enough money, they could build an extension and live there with a proper kitchen and living room where she could bake him her famous clafoutis while Marlene practiced her reading. If Avalanche succeeded, a fresh produce garden would no longer be a wild daydream. Maybe- 

Crawling into bed, Tifa’s brow furrowed, disturbed by her train of thought. 

Cloud was as unattached as a person could be with no real home or family pinning him down in Midgar. That she would expect any decision to revolve around her was not only egotistic, it was crazy. Pure fantasy. She had known this new version of the man for less than one week and in that time he hadn’t shared one shred of his personal life over the past seven years. For all she knew, he had a wife and kids waiting somewhere. 

Turning to her side and hugging the pillow to her head, she tried to focus on present Cloud and the single day he had committed to her if only to reap what he was owed. The incentives didn’t matter. He was _here_. For tonight, he was just on the other side of the wall. 

As if of their own volition, her eyes slithered over to the shower stall door and fixed there. She wondered how much he enjoyed having his own bed versus sleeping on her cold, hard floor. If he was more at ease in a private space, perhap he’d remove more than just the navy sweater as he settled in, bare legs sliding beneath the crisp sheets she had bought for him, pale skin in striking contrast to the dark cotton.

Involuntarily, the vision triggered a breathy little hum of appreciation and she slapped a hand to her mouth, mortified that he may have heard. It wasn’t possible, of course. She knew the building layout well and his own closed shower stall was directly beyond the wall, their beds on opposite ends of the room and the buzz of the electric lights provided extra audio cushioning. Someone would have to have superhuman hearing to pick up sounds of such low decibel. Her secret was safe. 

With a sneaky smile, Tifa curled her fingers into the sheets and giggled. Her eyes fluttered closed as she let memory meld with imagination for an intermission of self-indulgence, both missing the heat of Cloud’s body nearby and so very glad that she had her apartment to herself again. Some alone time was sorely desired after the events of the past few days. 

She remembered the sight of him as he had lept from bed that morning to confront Barret, every one of his defined muscles taut when preparing for attack, prominent scars only adding to the appeal. Contrary to the over-inflated, buff fantasy male, Tifa appreciated how lean he was, like there wasn’t an inefficient cubic centimeter of flesh on him. Just lightly tanned, freckled skin stretched taut over bone and sinew, luminescent in the night’s shadows. She also thought about that one time he had mindlessly licked a spoon clean of porridge while reading the paper and how her knees had threatened to turn to jelly at the sight. She considered how unnaturally warm his skin was the few times they had brushed against one another and how that warmth would feel if he ever took the opportunity to touch her with purpose. 

There was no denying her childhood friend had sparked something. Every minute together was stacking the kindling, building towards a raging bonfire. 

She needed relief from the flames. 

Tonight. 

Now. 

Something had to give before she spent the day with him tomorrow and somehow combusted. 

It was with little other fanfare that Tifa let her hand slither downward, past the waistband of her shorts. 

She didn’t do this often, probably fewer times than the number of years she’d been alive, but the urge to explore her body, to know what it was capable of, had become undeniably stronger with age. It was a lack of energy, privacy and incentive that usually deterred things. The first couple of times in her teens had actually been more of a failed experiment, resulting in nothing but shame and soreness. 

She would never - could never - forget the first time she got it _right_. A little over a year ago, after one (or four) too many celebratory glasses of her new corel wine stock as the Avalanche crew began planning this very night. She had stumbled into her apartment, giddy and confident, and collapsed into bed to finish the infamous book; the one she kept under her mattress to this day. A few pages in and the tingling between her legs had become unbearable to the point where she couldn’t keep her hips still. There practically hadn’t been a choice. 

She would always appreciate that text for being not only inciting but educational. The way the commander touched the heroine inspired new angles and concepts beyond tepid little strokes. That she could push in deeply had never occurred to her, nor that there was a certain bundle of nerves near the top that was pretty much essential or that she could caress her own breasts or roll over onto her stomach should nature prompt her to do so. 

That night, she had learned more about herself than all her years of schooling combined. It served her well on the rare occasions when anxiety got overwhelming. 

Tonight began as it always did, except there was no need for a text catalyst. Only the heel of her palm pressing against the curvature of her pelvis, rotating in firm circles as she thought of her new neighbor. A whimper escaped and she bit her lip to suppress any more. She had never considered herself loud and went through great pains to keep her actions private, but she also never had the object of her fantasies living next door. He would avoid her like the plague if he ever suspected...

Probably. Maybe.

Maybe not..?

How... _intriguing._

Admittedly, her mind wasn’t its sharpest when she got like this. Visions and unique concepts that would have never occurred to the hardworking barmaid gained insuppressible traction as her skin buzzed and brain started to melt. 

Daring to open her eyes, she stared at the steel wall again and imagined it was a mere curtain between them. A wicked grin spread onto her lips just as a single digit dipped between her folds and back, coming away slick. She moaned, albeit quietly and into her pillow, at the sensation, already shuddering. 

After nearly a whole week of suppressing, of hiding, she sensed that this wouldn’t take long. Another stroke coupled with the pressure of her palm confirmed it. Some sessions were like that if the ignition was potent enough. She imagined Cloud’s blonde eyebrows shooting up in pleased surprise if he had been the one to discover how close she was a mere one minute in. He’d grin wickedly, or so her wild imagination decided he would, and dive in for a kiss while pressing deep but still gentle, careful not to hurt. The Cloud of her fantasy was patient and selfless until he couldn’t take it anymore. Like the night at the ramen stand when he had attacked Theo for the sin of touching her, something would snap and he’d get wild, merciless, needing to see it come to fruition in a burst of sparks and colored lights for both of them. 

Breathless, Tifa alone in her bed chuckled and then gasped as she felt it building. The speed of her fingers increased and she allowed the other hand to wander up beneath her tank top to pinch and twist in desperation. 

She was almost there. She could practically feel the weight of him, the scent of flowers on his bare hands as they tangled in her hair, the hoarseness of his voice when he succumbed. 

Any second now. She was at the edge and glancing over, slowing down to enjoy the view and ensure the inevitable freefall was intense and lasting. 

At least that had been the intention before Cloud’s shower turned on. 

The hand that had been on her breast moved to her mouth to strangle sounds she hadn’t realized she was making. It was like she had been doused in cold water and the surefire explosion she had been teetering on the precipice of, evaporated like a raindrop landing on a hot grill. 

The idea of him listening wasn’t sexy or cute or funny anymore. It only had been because she was certain it was impossible. Now the splash of water upon tile, though it was a room beyond her own closed stall, was deafeningly loud in her ears. She could even hear the scrapping of his palms together as they lathered the mint-infused soapbar she had bought. 

Shit. Shit. _Shit!_

She debated calling out a nonchalant greeting to test how thin the walls really were, but abandoned the idea with a grimace. Coherency wasn’t her strong suit at the moment. Better to pray he had been asleep or at least distracted up until that very instant. Chances were that if she never brought it up, it would never be mentioned, considering the SOLDIER wasn’t the type to explore such subjects in casual conversation. Or have any casual conversation ever. 

Nodding to self-confirm her theory, Tifa rolled toward the wall and curled into the fetal position, straightening her sleepwear. The wisp of modesty, of feigned innocence, made her feel secure for a sorely needed minute. As she listened to him go about his cleansing routine, she imagined that this was like any other of their last few evenings sharing a space. He was simply doing what he always did before bed and it was a coincidence or, admittedly, bad planning on her part that it overlapped with her intimate moment. 

Or...

Another, much more intriguing option hit her like a firaga spell and made her eyes pop open. 

Maybe he had indeed heard her. 

Maybe he wanted her to know that he did. 

Maybe, even with four thin walls between them, he was trying - in his usual, roundabout, atypical way - to help her along. 

As quickly as the jarring thought occurred, it was dismissed. It was too scandalous to be anywhere in the vicinity of truth. 

Hugging an armful of comforter to her chest, Tifa tried to fall asleep. Alas, the tingling of her skin was an omnipresent reminder of how close she had gotten. The moment was ruined to the point that she didn’t dare try to relieve herself tonight. Perhaps after a few days, as she became more accustomed to his routine, she could carve out some time in between meal shifts when he was out working. Or late at night, extra quietly, after he was sure to be asleep. That is if she didn’t need to watch Marlene. And if she had a helper at the bar. And if Marle wasn’t out and about, eyeing her with that famous, knowing suspicion.

Or, the most likely of scenarios, as long as he lived next door she would never find the courage to try again and would just have to live life on the cusp of imploding until one of them either moved or died. Whichever came first. 

A quiet, frustrated whimper was the final sound she relinquished just as the water turned off, followed by the wet slapping of his bare feet returning to his bed. 

When silence, true silence, finally fell upon Stargazer Heights, Tifa focused on non-carnal delights. Like how all her friends had returned from a dangerous mission in one piece, one step closer to healing the planet. Like how her bar was making more than enough to support herself, her friends and their nefarious side work. How lucky she was that Cloud was back in her life and she was feeling like this again, even if it never amounted to anything. 

Being his friend was enough. 

It had to be. 

With those pleasant, calming thoughts in mind, her body unwound and Tifa was able to fall into a fitful sleep. 

* * *

In apartment #202, Cloud Strife stared at the tile beyond the open shower stall. Glared at it, to be specific. The only sound being droplets falling from his wet hair onto the floorboards, as jolting as gunshots.

With surprise decisiveness, he rose to his feet and headed to the door. As soon as his fingers touched the knob he retracted as if the steel burned. 

Not yet. 

Shuffling backwards, he fell back down onto the bed while shaking his head. 

Tomorrow he was going to be working with Tifa all day. 

Tomorrow, things would become clear. 

* * *

** **Author’s Note**:** Thank you everyone for your kind comments, reviews and constructive criticisms. They give me life. As you can see, the rating is gonna be bumped up to M. Hope you enjoy the ride :). 

  
  



	4. Combination

_“Moral codes adjust themselves to environmental conditions.”_

**\- Will Durant**

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 4: Combination_

The morning passed as well as Tifa could have hoped. 

Better, in fact. 

Despite it ending with them scrubbing blood off the walls...

Thanks to Cloud’s uncharacteristically slow call to arms, there wasn’t time to stew over what may or may not have been overheard between their rooms last night. To have any hope of meeting the filter quota and getting him paid, both needed to roll up their invisible sleeves and hit the ground running. 

Turns out they were an efficient team, naturally falling into a rendition of “good” cop / “bad” cop or, more accurately, “good” cop / “unrelentingly awkward but you probably shouldn’t get on his bad side cause he seems a little unstable” cop. Whichever way a customer leaned, the two never failed to depart with cash in hand and the thrill of victory buzzing in their veins.

“At this rate,” she said while pocketing a bundle from the flirtatious item shop owner. “You’ll be paid in full well before lunch time. Great hustle!”

“Hmm,” he acknowledged, the glimmer of a grin tugging at the corner of his lip. “In that case, is there anything else you want me to do to you?”

Tifa nearly choked on her own tongue. 

It took a few seconds of sputtering to tame her blush and realize she had most likely misheard. “Sorry, uh...Dust in my, umm, throat. What did you just say?”

“I asked,” he took a step closer, the sideway grin rising by a mere millimeter “if there’s anything else you want me to do for you?” 

Pushing her hair behind her ears, Tifa considered while fixing her gaze beyond his head. Anywhere but those tantalizing azure eyes. Thankfully, the new line of sight allowed her to spot Wymer pacing outside the community center, wringing his hands and looking generally desperate. 

“I’m all good. But if you’re not yet tired, I can probably nab us a few merc contracts for some extra pocket change?”

Thus the morning pressed on. 

Long after they had collected enough money to cover the bombing fee, Cloud suggested they keep going as long as time and energy endured. Tifa liked to imagine it was because he enjoyed spending time with her, though the gil was certainly a factor. 

No matter the incentive, it was sweet. 

Wymer’s jobs, though not very lucrative, were invigorating, as Tifa and Cloud were finally able to witness one another in their battle elements. Seeing him fight so competently had Tifa thinking that he _must_ be on his way if not already healed. No one with brain damage could pull off such fluid parries, dodges, and on-the-nose hits. The way he kept in perfect synchronicity with her, shifting between guarding her back as she released a flurry of kicks, tossing potions just when her stamina started to wane, yanking her to her feet as if she weighed nothing after a monster landed a rare hit, it was almost as if he could read her mind, recognizing what she needed before she herself realized. 

She had assumed, as a SOLDIER, that he would be a good fighter. But it had been impossible to fathom just how _good_. She made sure to tell him so and he was shockingly quick to return the compliment. 

As the hours pressed on, he clearly started to relax, trademark glower softening as he participated in mindless chatter unprompted. The terse attitude proved to be shyness veiled by a dry sense of humor. Those strange headaches were rare and not as debilitating. Piece by piece, she watched, fascinated, as he pulled himself together, the puzzle compiling to reveal a man worn down but still exceptionally colorful. When they cornered a gang of that larger breed of wererats, hearts pounding a mile a minute as they circled their prey like a practiced dance, Tifa felt them tiptoeing the boundary from mere old acquaintances, small-town duty-bound to assist one another, to proper friends. 

She would have thought he had made it through the day’s many clashes without a single scratch if he hadn’t unintentionally revealed otherwise. 

Only after they returned to Stargazer Heights to swap their apartments’ filters and made plans to squander hard earned profits on a night out, did she notice him flinch, favoring his right side when the sword jostled against his back.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, gesturing to the area in question. 

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, titling away. 

Tifa hands flew to her hips. 

“Rightttt. How about you stop playing the hero for a sec and let me take a look, huh?” Gently but without room for negotiation, she maneuvered him by the elbows towards her desk chair. “No point dying of sepsis just when you’ve started to build a reputation around here.”

With a scoff, he obliged, leaning his weapon against the wall before plopping down in the seat while she flipped open a rusted first aid kit.

Caretaker mode activated, Tifa didn't hesitate to shimmy the back of his shirt away from the deltoid, brow furrowing as she noted that the navy color concealed how saturated the fabric had become. She cursed herself for not being quicker when that scrapyard hound managed to get a swipe at him from behind. Considering how Cloud acted afterward, it had been easy to assume it was a miss or perhaps only a shallow scrape. How wrong she was proven to be as the grisly, inches deep gash was revealed and she barely dodged a burst of arterial spray. 

“Cloud!” Terrified but trained, she pressed a palm against the wound to quell the bleeding as the other dug blindly into her kit, vision blurred by tears. “You have...Holy...I think-”

“I regenerate fast,” he mumbled in explanation, refusing to face her concern. “It’ll close within the hour. Don’t worry.”

Tifa took a deep breath to get her heartbeat under control, feeling the pressure of the wound pulsing strangely hot against her hand, like the shell of a furnace. If that were true, then SOLDIERs really were beyond human, as the papers used to imply. She remembered reading an article, back when she read every article on the war hoping to find mention of his name, that glorified the marvels of genetic engineering that were successful SOLDIER candidates and how they alone guaranteed Shinra’s military victory. For whatever reason, it made her incredibly sad both then and now. Another item to add to the discussions list once he was more settled. 

She pushed onwards. 

“Oh...o-okay. Fine. Still, a few stitches are probably-”

“No.” Reaching behind, he tugged her wrist away and shifted the fabric back into place. “Stitches make scars. I...I have enough of those.”

Though his face was hidden from view, Tifa could see a flush rising all the way to the back of his ears. 

She would never have pegged Cloud as vain and debated confessing how attractive she found the markings, if only to boost his confidence. There was no shame in healing. But that would be admitting how closely she looked those few times he had been without a shirt, which would likely do the opposite of making him comfortable. Besides, after a moment’s contemplation, she realized that this had nothing to do with aesthetics _._

Her hand rose to the center of her chest, where her own most prominent scar was hidden just above the hem of her shirt. Though it was rarely revealed, _confidence_ was the last thing the jagged mark inspired whenever she caught a glimpse. Shame and failure and pain, most of all. 

A deep, soul-crushing pain.

“I understand,” she whispered, pressing a few delicate fingers to his shoulder blade. It was most likely the same reason he didn’t want to talk about Nibelheim nor his time in Shinra. Gotta look forward, not back. “Can I at least use cleanse materia, if only to make you more comfortable?”

Cloud winced, acting as if she had asked to borrow his sword to slice carrots. “I told you I’ll be fine. You shouldn’t waste magic on-”

“It’s not _wasting_ anything, Cloud,” she interrupted angrily. “Don’t you dare think that! We’re friends, right?”

The question shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, but it seemed to. It took a whole minute of what appeared to be frantic pondering before he came up with the oh-so-eloquent “I guess” in response.

Tifa bit back a laugh. 

“Soooooo friends support one other. Whether it’s, I dunno, picking someone up at the airshipport or-or eating too much ice cream to heal after heartbreak.”

“How the hell does ice cream-”

“Silly example, just...Please don’t forget, okay? Friends are honest with one another and unquestionably do whatever they can when one is hurt or scared or confused. That’s just a base standard.”

After a beat of charged silence, he nodded, eyes fixed on the wall ahead as if it had the answer to all life’s mysteries scribbled upon it. “Okay.” 

Spurred by his approval, Tifa got to work, first taking out a bottle of antiseptic and gauze, then rifling through her materia lockbox to find the cleansing one and equipping it to her gloves. 

“This may sting a little,” she warned before pulling the cloth of his shirt to the side again. True to his word, the wound appeared less extreme in the mere minutes since she had last looked. The artery had repaired itself, no longer gushing, and strings of newly grown flesh seemed to be knitting the two sides of the gash together. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have bet the bar’s deed that this scratch was over a week old. 

Fascinating. Mindlessly, a bare finger reached out and started tracing around it, noting that the firmness of his deltoid and trapezius muscles certainly weren’t hurting the repair process. 

“Tifa?” Cloud said, turning slightly. “You okay?”

She shook her head free of cobwebs. “Yes! Yes, of course.”

Back in nurse mode, she brushed the alcohol-soaked gauze over and around, if only to clear away the sticky blood. He didn’t flinch, proving that pain was most likely not a big issue for SOLDIERs either. How lucky. “I expect you’ll want to get this shirt darned,” she suggested, shimming her whole hand through a new, gaping hole in the knit. “If you pass it to me before you go to bed, I can have it ready by morning.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Friends, Cloud. Remember? Do I need to explain it again?”

With a short chuckle, he shook his head. “No. I remember.”

“Good.” 

Silence pressed upon them as she worked. First with the cleaning, then with the soft, green glow of the cleansing materia spell to avoid any nasty infections (as if that were even a possibility for him) and finally, though probably pointlessly, a square piece of taped gauze to at least keep his sword from rubbing directly against it. 

“All done!” she announced, slapping her hands together. Had it been anyone else, she would have leaned down to place a silly, good-luck kiss on the bandage, but stopped herself just in time. 

There were some things friends _didn’t_ do by default.

Jumping to his feet, Cloud reached for his sword and immediately reclipped it to his back, almost as if he had been naked without it. “Thanks,” he said, glancing everywhere but at her face. 

“No problem,” she answered, forcing a smile as she noticed the splatter on her walls was already dark and crusted over. Damn, that stuff clots fast. Thank goodness the curtains were already crimson. “I’m just going to tidy up a bit. How about you meet me at the bar? I think we both deserve a celebratory drink, no?”

Picking up on the tightness of her tone, Cloud followed her line of sight up to the wall and his eyes widened in mortification. Here she had thought such emotiveness wasn't possible.

“Don’t worry about it!” she insisted before he could open his mouth. “It’s so not a big deal. Marlene as a toddler has done worse things to this place with bodily fluids, trust me.”

“At least let me help.” Not giving her a choice, he strode over to the sink and grabbed the two rags still drying from when he last cleaned the place. “It’ll go faster together.”

He had already started scrubbing one-handedly before tossing the second cloth her way. She caught it with ease and got to work, not wanting to be a hypocrite. 

They helped each other a lot today. Because that’s what friends do. 

Thus how they ended up in a dark room, scrubbing blood off the walls on one of the sunniest winter days in Midgar. Somehow, it was still the most fun morning she had had in years. 

“Hey, Tifa,” Cloud asked while attacking the crevices in the frame. 

“Hmm?” It was so rare that he instigated conversation and she tried not to freak him out with her rapt attention, instead focusing on a stubborn droplet by the lampshade. 

“If something was bothering you, something I could help with, you’d tell me, right?”

Tifa froze. 

It was as loaded as a question could get. 

After some calculation, Tifa arrived at a truth that could at least pass in the court of law. “With few exceptions, of course I would.”

“What would be considered an exception?” 

Damn his ill-timed bouts of inquisitiveness.

“If my asking would hurt you at a time when I didn't think you could handle any more hurt. And vice versa.” 

That one was a little too honest. Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy. He said nothing more as they went about their task. Within a couple of minutes, there was no trace of the gorey episode.

“Now I’d say we deserve _two_ drinks. Dontcha think?” Tifa said, smacking her hands free of imaginary dust. “And don’t you dare bring a single gil! Tonight is on me.”

Two steps from the door, her glove snagged on something and she staggered. His fingers were pinching the weapon’s decorative feathers, tugging to reel her back minus the intimacy of taking her hand. 

“Tifa,” he said in that serious but airy way of his, glowing eyes fixed to hers for the first time since the revelation that he was hurt. 

“Yes?”

He dropped the glove once certain he had her full attention. “I owe you.”

Something in the way he said it, coupled with the green glint in his eyes, made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. 

Like he was deciding - _promising_ \- something. Something...inevitable. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she insisted. “Let’s just- let’s not keep the gang waiting, k?”

“Right. Sure. Lead the way.”

They descended the stairs with some strange new static hovering between them. One that, despite giving no other hint as to what had transpired in the apartment, did not escape Marle’s notice. 

“Oh? You’re looking pretty chipper!” the old landlady commented.

“Uh...I don’t feel any different…?” she lied, focusing on the canine companion. 

Eyeing Cloud, Marle smiled that knowing, salacious smile. “Must be my imagination then.”

For the first time, Tifa wanted to deck the woman who had shown her nothing but kindness all these years. 

Thankfully, the SOLDIER was clueless as always and they were soon on their way. 

Though the day had so far wrought various shades of disgust and disaster, it felt like she and Cloud had hit some milestone in their relationship. Once her bar shift was over, she couldn’t wait to discover what the night had in store. 

* * *

But Cloud wasn’t home when she returned from closing the bar.

She had even gone so far as to knock on his door, armed with the excuse of wanting to fix his shirt as promised, but her inquiry was met with silence. 

The decision to wait up was made unwittingly. She settled into bed with a book, fully expecting to drift off once her weary brain acknowledged it hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in over five days, but it didn’t work. She was too restless and there was a strange strain in her neck pulling her rigid every time she dared to slouch. 

Glancing at the shower stall, Tifa considered for an evanescent moment that maybe this was her chance. 

Cloud was away, it was late and she was feeling stretched taut like a guitar string, simultaneously nervous about the upcoming Avalanche mission, concerned by Cloud’s whereabouts and - as always - _needy._ As in ‘ _on the edge of snapping’_ needy. 

It would be quick and she’d have plenty of warning whenever he ascended the wheezing staircase towards their rooms. 

Despite her body screaming at her otherwise, she dismissed the idea with a shake of her head.

 _“If it feels wrong, don’t do it,”_ she remembered Cloud saying as they shared a 2nd drink at the bar earlier that afternoon. 

Though he had been referring to the Reactor 5 bombing and her obvious hesitation, the sentiment could and should be applied to life in general. 

She was an intelligent, resourceful woman. Such beings weren’t slaves to baser instincts and she had better, more educational uses for her precious spare time. With those assertions in mind, Tifa dove into her delightfully boring novel with newfound dedication. 

It was half an hour later, upon reading the same sentence for the sixtieth time, that she heard footsteps on the staircase. They were quicker than Marco’s and lighter than even Marle’s, most likely due to stealth training, but still insidiously loud. Not even the talents of a SOLDIER could compete with slum’s shoddy construction. 

Kicking the sheets off, again ignoring the flare of pain at her nape, she sprinted toward the mirror and took a moment to straighten her clothing and pat her hair flat. 

No matter the hour, Cloud deserved a proper welcome home. 

It was the least a friend could do. 

* * *

A few minutes later, as Tifa walked the five paces back to her room from Cloud’s, she carelessly caressed the wall with an impossible to suppress grin gracing her lips. 

He remembered their water tower promise. 

_Finally_. 

Best of all, he wasn’t leaving. She noticed the few personal touches his studio apartment had accumulated over the last twenty-four hours: a stack of magazines, a new hand towel, a cardboard box filled with cans of some mystery protein. It wasn’t much but they were micro-roots burrowing into the floorboards, physical proof of his intention to stay, at least for a little while longer.

As such evidence accumulated, as hour by hour Cloud Strife became more of a stable presence in her life, her reluctance to get close to him thinned.

None of her Midgarian friends would call Tifa a romantic. In the five years since arriving in the city, she had never been on a single date let alone pursued a relationship and it wasn’t for lack of offers. Johnny proposed at least once a week. The bar, raising Marlene and supporting Avalanche were all too time-consuming. Not to mention the _revenge_ fixation. That didn’t mean she never considered such things. It didn’t mean she didn’t dream of a man - a _partner_ \- who could help shoulder her burdens if not take some upon himself. Someone to treat her like a fairy tale princess, despite her split knuckles and dark leather clothing. 

Cloud Strife wasn’t a prince charming by any stretch of the imagination. Quiet, a little rude and unrelentingly uncommunicative, she wondered for a disturbing few seconds whether she was shallow enough to be enticed by his good looks alone. Maybe. Smarter girls than her had fallen for less. 

Leaning against the door inside, Tifa sought answers from the fluorescent ceiling lights as if they were wise old spirits. 

She thought about Cloud cleaning her home when she had to work, taking her place in the bombing mission, giving support at the bar, assisting her with the filters, trying his best to converse with Marle even while she shamelessly teased. It was these actions over that last few days that had reanimated her crush - yes, she could now admit it was a crush - more than anything. It was in the way he indirectly called her “beautiful” upon raising his glass... in the way he had said “good night”, just minutes ago. She shuddered at the memory, wrapping her arms around herself and allowing a giddy smile to burst free, brightening the shadows of her empty apartment. 

As ill timed as these feelings were, she was grateful for any reprieve from the relentless fury that had ravaged her all these years. Maybe, just maybe, this was how it was meant to be. Maybe her fairy tale love story, unconventionally riddled with bombs and blood, was on the cusp of a new chapter. 

For a heart-pumping minute of bravado, Tifa considered going back. Something in his tone, or at least her memory of his tone, implied that she would be welcome. That maybe he was feeling just as lonely and empty tonight and perhaps they could find a mutually satisfying distraction. Especially considering the deadly mission she was soon to embark on. 

Of course, she failed to summon the prerequisite guts and the clumsy idea tripped before falling overboard. 

Certain elements or planets or stars or whatever had to line up just right for her to be comfortable making a move on Cloud and it probably wouldn’t happen for a long while, if ever. Things were still too fresh. Her neck hurt too much anyway from the combination filter changing, fighting, and ferrying heavily laden trays for hours on end. 

With that assertion in mind, she officially got ready for bed, changing into her terry cloth shorts and tank top, brushing her teeth and hair. She had just leaned down to spit toothpaste into the sink when some unfortunate angle of her neck tugged upon whatever tendon had been threatening to snap all evening. 

Hand reflexively flying to her nape, she cried out, toothbrush clattering to the ground. The fiery sting was felt even in her hair. 

“ _Tifa_?”

Cloud was knocking on her door not ten seconds later. Any encouraging reply she may have had got stuck in her throat as a fresh wave shot down her spine and she yelped again. 

Like a sentinel called to duty, there was no stopping him. The flimsy lock that she knew she’d have to replace one day burst off its screws from a direct shoulder hit. Before she could chastise him about the damage, because Godsdammit Marle only gave her so much leeway, he had her by the shoulders and steered into the desk chair. Just like she had done to him a few hours earlier. 

“I’m alright,” she insisted as he went to the shower stall and grabbed the wooden washing stool. “Must have pulled something. You don’t have to-”

“Let me see.” He settled behind her, twisting a handful of thick, ebony hair around his wrist and tossing it over her shoulder to expose her back. The action made Tifa’s breath catch, which she hoped he figured was from the pain. 

There was a stroke of bare fingertips, as gentle as a flower petal on her neck, but then they abruptly pulled away. Almost as if her skin had burned. She heard him clear his throat while shifting in his seat. 

“Can I…” A single finger tapped against her spine. “Is it okay if I touch you?” 

“Y-yeah,” she sputtered, swallowing audibly. “Anytime.”

“Hmm.” His generic sound of acknowledgement may have been laced with a laugh, but there was no time to diagnose. His fingers pressed against her upper vertebrae with purpose and any fragment of shame flew out of her head when the pain blossomed like a morning glory. 

“You have cervical strain here,” he stated, four fingers weaving up into her hairline. This triggered another flare of pain and then, to her surprise, a warm rush arrived to chase it. “They’re common for mixed martial arts athletes. Regular stretches and massage can help.” 

“Ooh..?” Words were suddenly beyond her. 

Those skilled fingers in her hair increased the pressure before trailing down, pausing to pulse between her shoulder blades before dragging up again, the thumb of his other hand tracing firmly along the curvature of her spine. All concentration went into not groaning nor falling backwards, boneless, into his arms. 

This - right here and now - _this_ was real 7th Heaven.

“You work too hard, Tifa,” he chastised in a whisper. She didn’t dare interrupt his ministrations with a reply. 

The massage continued for endless minutes, both hands now gently cupping her neck as his thumbs pressed circles into her nape. It was sinfully perfect. The strain had long since been subdued but she couldn’t bring herself to suggest he stop. That would have been as heartless as someone changing the channel during the chorus of a favorite love song. 

“Mmm. I, uhh...I gotta ask,” she mumbled once it had gone on much longer than necessary, feeling light and beautiful. “H _-_ How do you know how to do this?” 

The fingers on her neck stilled. For a second, she worried that the spell had been shattered and cursed herself for tossing pebbles onto such a fragile scale. However, soon enough they started up again, both full hands separating to explore over her shoulders and colliding again in the center, crawling up into her hair. “I don’t know. Used to read a lot, I guess.” 

At this, Tifa’s eyes opened. What a strange thing to say. “You guess?” 

He didn’t reply. He did nothing except continue to manipulate key pressure points along her back and shoulders. Maddeningly mechanical.

“Breathe, Tifa,” he had to remind her. “I can feel you tensing up again. You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t learn to let go.” 

Attempting to follow his instruction, a gush of air came whistling out of her, deep and shiver-inducing. Still, it did nothing to solve the ‘tense’ problem. In fact, that seemed to be getting worse the longer he kept touching her, unable or unwilling to move beyond the safety zone of her upper back.

Feeling a tad desperate, she fixed her gaze on the curtains and summoned every wisp of courage she possessed. 

This was what friends did, right? Help each other. Be honest. 

“You heard me, didn’t you?” she asked quietly, hands gripped onto the edge of her seat as if it were a lifesaver in a tumultuous sea. “You heard me cry out through the wall, that’s why you came to help. Right?”

His hands didn’t stop moving while he took his time to answer. “...Yes.”

She nodded and released a shaky breath. “Can you always hear me?” 

Another pregnant pause. 

“...Yes.” Those dedicated hands of his dared to venture a bit lower this time, palms pressing into her lower back. “It’s the mako-enhanced senses. I can also hear Barret yelling at a kid to pull up his pants, three blocks East.” 

“Ah.” 

It was official then. He was very much aware of how she entertained herself in the late evenings. One would think she would die of humiliation, hands on her cheeks, begging for him to leave so that she could burn in peace. Tonight however, something was different. Something was stabilizing. The hands on her back pushed upward, scrunching up her tank top a little as they went before landing on her shoulders. 

The silence was only broken by their breathing and a slight screech as he shifted the stool closer behind her, until she could feel his breath on her bare skin. Waiting for...something. 

_“If it feels wrong don’t do it,”_ he had advised her back at the bar. It wasn’t a dilemma for this situation. Everything about this felt right. So very right. 

_“Can I touch you?”_ he had inquired just minutes ago. 

_“Anytime,”_ she had automatically answered. 

_“Learn to let go…”_

It was as though she had floated out of her body and something primal possessed it; an ancient phantom, suppressed for too long, clawed its way to the surface and staked its claim over her fear, essentially drowning it. 

Now was the moment. 

Eyes fixed on the curtain in front, her hands rose to meet the ones still resting her shoulders, weaving her fingers between his and squeezing. He stilled his massage. Waiting. Always waiting. 

There they remained, a two-bodied statue of suspense, while her desires coalesced into a warm puddle of need. It was with little other thought or planning that she pulled his hands down and around her waist, flattening heated palms against the tops of her bare thighs. 

She felt his next breath stutter but otherwise, there was no reaction for another restless beat. With no other instruction necessary, he began kneading the new area, thumbs tracing up along her femurs just like they had her spine, which really did nothing to help her _tense_ problem. She was on the cusp of blacking out, breath held as he approached the junction. At the highest point of her legs, the hands diverged and curved around her hips to press into her lower back. 

It was torturous. It was perfect.

Feeling like she might slap him for the sin of self-restraint, just as his fingers started crawling forward along her hips again, she grabbed his thumbs and hooked them into the waistband of her shorts. What could have been a chuckle was breathed against her neck, clearly amused by her impatience, but it was given no other mind as he accepted the signal and started to pull downward. 

They proceeded like a game of chess, each taking their turn, pushing a bit further with every move, encroaching deeply into unfamiliar territory. Time and vision blurred, like looking through gauzy steam rising from hot cement. In a series of leisurely maneuvers, the shorts were gone, pressed down her thighs to her knees, as far as he could get them before she took over and kicked them away under the desk. It never occurred to her to turn around, somehow understanding that he needed privacy and concentration during this initial exploration. 

The newly revealed skin was explored with the same amount of dedication as her neck: kneading and _needing_ , blunt nails scraping along inner thighs, raising gooseflesh in their wake, any and every bit of flesh he could reach was given thorough attention except her core. She suspected he was waiting for her to decide whether this was what she truly wanted, give her a chance to push away and realize this was not a line she wanted them to cross. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, tempted to scream at him to just _start_ already, though it had also been silently agreed upon that there would be no words exchanged. 

Words had never been his forte. Actions were. 

Desperation making her uncharacteristically bold, she again grabbed one of his wandering wrists and tugged it closer, allowing him plenty of opportunity to pull away.

He didn’t. Thank Gods he didn’t. He wasn’t even shaking, while she was genuinely concerned about vibrating off the chair. 

Her cooperation was supposedly the consent he required. Now determined, hands slid forward to cup each knee and carefully coaxed them apart until she felt a rush of cold air. The stool was shifted even closer, enough so that she could feel the heat of his chest against her back though not so much that their torsos touched. 

There was no more hesitation as the fingers of his right hand crawled their way up her left inner thigh before decisively pressing between damp curls. She gasped at the sensation, wider and warmer than her own. After another pause to let her acclimatize or choose to toss him away, only then did he start to move. He moved just like he had upon the rest of her; an educated, focused massage in firm circles and pulsing presses. 

In a strange observation, Tifa noticed he seemed to know exactly what he was doing with pressure and pacing, but was slightly off. Like he had studied or seen such a procedure hundreds of times but never really practiced. She didn’t care. A slight tug on his wrist coaxed him a half inch higher and that was all the correction required.

Heavenly.

It built fast. He always had been efficient. Not to mention, the lengthy touches and her own pent up frustration had already done most of the prep work. Her palms pressed upon the desktop as she felt it winding up, grasping at nothing. She wished he would venture for her breasts but doesn’t dare distract. It wasn’t necessary, just a perk. Instead, that odd primal soul persuaded her to look down at her lap, to stare with wide eyes at the one pale hand clenched into her thigh, nails leaving red marks, while the other was hidden in the shadows between her legs. Only the shifting muscles of his forearm were clearly visible though there was a glimmer of his glistening palm pressed close and rotating.

Knowing she was watching, he took the opportunity to adjust his arm and press _in_. The new intrusion was almost too much and it was impossible to stifle a pitched gasp.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low and maddeningly calm as his fingers slowed and started to pull away.

“ _Yes!_ ” She snagged his wrist before he could completely retreat. “Don’t stop. Please. I-I’m close.”

“Mmm.” As a seasoned veteran, he didn’t need to be told twice. His second hand came closer to resume the rotating massage on her mound as the others’ fingers curled inside and gently pumped. They were as unnaturally heated as she imagined them to be, adding a layer of fire to their dance.

Wide eyes glued to her lap, she was startled by how much the sight of his hands between her legs riled her up, having never desired visual stimulation before. Knowing that turning around, that chancing a glance at his face would ruin their unspoken contract, she instead imagined it. Mako eyes glowing furiously, burrowing into her soul, mouth corner lifted in a haughty smirk. Or perhaps more likely, jaw dropped open in surprise of what they were doing, at how naturally they had arrived here after only a couple of days reunited, at how quickly and easily he could make her shudder and gasp and become as tightly wound as a catapult ready to launch.

Gods, was he beautiful. _Gods_ , was he good at this! Gods...dammit...

The climax hit like a lightning strike: without warning and in a flash of white. She clenched and spasmed around his hand, gasping in terrified delight of what she was feeling: relieved and electrified but, most of all...hollow. 

When it was over, also much like a lightning strike, she felt more burnt out than anything. 

As he slowed down the motions, there were no satisfied moans or cute, semi-scandalized giggles, as materialized when she took herself to such heights. Instead, it was like her true self had sucker punched the primal beast in the jaw, banishing it beneath dark depths as logic took its rightful throne in the forefront of her brain. 

And logic was _not_ happy right now. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

Tifa’s fists clenched onto the surface of the desk, biting her lower lip to avoid making a sound as she trembled with aftershocks. Two fingers remained limply inside of her for a minute overflowing with self-consciousness before he seemed to realize and vacated with an obscene little squelch, hands slithering away behind her hips like cockroaches when the light turned on. The stool shifted backwards a foot to complete the separation as thoroughly as possible. 

In complete contrast to how this moment had begun, slowly and sensually, it had died a sad, swift little death.

They had to talk about it. 

Even he, with all his social deficiencies, had to know that this was not something that could be swept under the rug. That this was not normal. How backwards and unhealthy it was that he had made her come without even a first date or hand holding or kiss. How _dirty_. 

With trembling hands, she pushed her hair behind her ears and prepared to turn around but, astonishingly, Cloud was the first to break the silence. 

“Sorry,” he said to the space behind her head. She heard him fidget and suspected he was crossing his arms over his chest like he usually did when defensive. “I, umm...I thought-”

“Please don’t be sorry,” she interrupted, needing to vanquish the sentiment though still unable to face him. “You did nothing wrong. In fact, you...that was-”

“I just figured...” He sighed and she heard the scraping of the stool as he stood. “I hope you can sleep better now. That’s all. Goodnight, Tifa.”

The words were still rumbling around her head, processing, long after he closed the door and returned to his quarters. 

_“If something was bothering you, something I could help with, you’d tell me, right?”_

_“I_ **_owe_ ** _you.”_

Still shaking, Tifa reached down beneath the desk for her shorts and shimmied them over her hips, wincing at the accumulated slipperiness between her thighs. There she remained, glued a chair becoming stickier by the minute, staring into the curtain’s abyss for untold minutes. 

The very notion that his pleasuring her was some sort of eye-for-an-eye transaction… It was so disturbing that she was finding it hard to blink. 

Had she misread the situation that incompetently? Had the affectionate expressions she imagined been pure fantasy when instead he had been going through the motions like any other fix-it job on his checklist? 

Did he expect a _tip,_ for Shiva’s sake?

Knowing that clarification would not arrive anytime soon, Tifa stood on shaky legs and face planted into her mattress, mercifully only a few feet away. 

At least Cloud would have his goal fulfilled: she felt too drained to stay awake and instantly fell into a deep though unsettled slumber. 

* * *

  
  


**Author’s Note:** Gah! I’m such a terrible smut writer but I suppose the only way to get good is to practice haha. Sorry it’s not your standard steaminess but I have this theory that SOLDIER!Cloud is very much the same sort of lover as he is a fighter; good if only because he’s a master impersonator, but overly efficient and awkward af (in the beginning). Looking forward to Tifa teaching him otherwise ;). Till next chapter! Thank you for your wonderful comments/reviews. 


	5. Grapple

_“If life closes a door, open it again. It’s a door. That’s how they work.”_

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 5: Grapple_

They had to talk about it.

Tifa decided this right after she slammed her alarm clock’s snooze a smidge too aggressively, smashing the unfortunate piece of plastic to smithereens. At least the victims of her murderous mood were inanimate objects. 

For now. 

Dragging herself into the shower, inexplicably exhausted even after an above-average five hours sleep, she scrubbed away the sticky residue from between her legs with a dissociative air and contemplated how to broach the subject. Before that even, she had to decide what sort of conclusion she was aiming for in opening such a rancid can of worms. 

There were three potential avenues: a) Did she want to brush it off as a misunderstanding that would never happen again, continuing on as friends? b) Did she want to goad him into an attempted relationship, filling in the blanks that were meant to lead up to fondling in dark rooms? Or c) did she simply avoid him for the rest of eternity? 

That last option was currently the most appealing.

The pipes screeched as the shower next to hers turned on, putting an instant kibosh on the “avoidance” plan. Instinctively, her hands flew to cover her most vulnerable areas, glaring at the tiles between their stalls as if they had blinked into camera lenses. It took an embarrassing number of seconds to remember that his SOLDIER skills did not include x-ray vision. Still, he must have heard that she was in the midst of washing and thus felt a spurt of annoyance at him for daring to be so casual - so _normal_ \- after what had happened only a few hours earlier. 

“Jerk,” she muttered, only half-joking as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair with extra vigor. What could have been a chuckle vibrated through the wall and Tifa felt her heart swell; whether with hope or trepidation, she didn’t know. 

A hand reached out and delicately pressed against the divider between them, feeling miles apart even while hearing the splashing of his bare feet. Closing her eyes, she was assaulted by a potent jolt of longing and debated punching a hole through the tile, climbing through it, and claiming him. Properly this time. 

She didn’t need cocktails by candlelight, fancy clothes, or pale yellow flowers. No one living in the slums could afford such frivolity anyway. She just wanted him. Whatever he had to give, even knowing it would never be enough.

But no. He still didn’t have his wits together yet, still didn’t know where his next meal would be coming from or where he should perpetually rest his head. If anything, last night had only proven how unstable and odd he still was, needing guidance through social norms to survive in a society that chewed up and spat out the naive. 

If last night really was a transaction for him, payment for Tifa having arranged an apartment, jobs, and dressing his wounds, then she was truly the one at fault for letting it get that far - for _encouraging_ it. Only the most corrupt villains accepted lewd favors from the desperate.

How disgusting. 

With extreme effort, Tifa managed to yank her hand back to her chest, shaking her head and biting back a whimper. 

She couldn’t deal with this. Not yet. 

In a record-setting flurry of limbs, she was rinsed, brushed, dressed, and out the still-broken door before his shower even shut off. 

Dawn had barely broken as she marched towards 7th Heaven, planning the details of her day and jam-packing it with anything and everything not Cloud related. There was an inventory check that she’d been procrastinating on, four long-since broken chairs to be repaired and then, of course, the final preparations for the bombing mission, scheduled tomorrow. 

Cloud, and whatever definition they had yet to messily collage together, would have to wait. 

* * *

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when she officially ran out of things to do, both the required and the invented. 

The bar was spotless, inventory counted twice, meals prepped, mission equipment organized, and, considering the hour, there was a typical lull in customers. Only two were currently seated in 7th Heaven, one being Barret, pouring over his maps, who preferred to serve himself anyway. 

Blowing her bangs off her forehead while stretching across the bar, Tifa glared at the clock as if it were to blame for her predicament. Her attention was then drawn toward Johnny’s father sitting at the opposite end, swaying to some tune heard only in his head. 

“Need anything, Rick?” she asked, knowing she probably should cut him off at this point, but the distraction of his presence was too appreciated. 

Hiccuping a few times, he waved her inquiry away with floppy wrists, realizing himself that he was in too deep. Tifa winced, suddenly guilt-ridden for letting it get this bad again. Yet another victim of the wicked Seventh Heaven barmaid who, apparently, never hesitated to take advantage of the vulnerable. 

“Rick...I…” Blinking away an unexpected onslaught of anxiety, Tifa shuffled closer to squeeze his clammy hand. “Let me get you some coffee and a sandwich, hmm? On the house.” 

Barret was heard shifting in his seat, most likely to chastise her for cutting into the meager afternoon’s profits, but she ignored him. They may be partners in the bar, but the handling of customers was and always would be her domain. _She_ decided when someone had had enough, what level of handsy-ness warranted a stern warning versus a punch in the jaw and who deserved a rare sprinkle of generosity, so very sparse in the slums. It had been a mere seven weeks since Johnny’s mother died from a probably very treatable illness, had they lived topside. Tifa nor anybody else could judge how they chose to mourn. 

She was still slicing bread, admittedly stretching out the task, when _he_ walked in. 

Tifa looked up with her trademark, welcoming smile screwed into place, thrilled at the prospect of a new customer with whom to whittle away the hours. The expression shimmered and blinked out of existence upon meeting those glowing eyes, almost slicing the tip of her pinky off as the crust crumbled between tense fingers. 

Cloud. 

The ex-SOLDIER nodded in greeting to Barret, who reciprocated just as tersely, before striding forward and taking a seat at the end of the bar closest to the kitchen where she was working. 

Concentrating on the sandwich, Tifa felt the tendon in her neck start to throb again as she piled on slices of sundried tomato and dehydrated lettuce. Though it was very likely this meal wouldn’t stay long in Rick’s stomach, the least she could do was ensure he absorbed some vitamins prior to the inevitable. 

She could feel Cloud’s eyes on her, shameless, as she walked the length of the bar behind the counter to deliver the plate along with a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee. There was no hiding her shaking hands as she deposited the meal and the ceramic clattered, as loudly as orchestral cymbals, against the wood. 

“Teeefuh? Y-yoouuu,” Rick’s eyes blinked out of sync and still he managed to look more pitying than pitiable. “You awright, hmm?”

“I’m fine, Rick,” she said, flashing him a tight grin. Behind the bar, she grabbed a washcloth and wrung it between her hands. “Never better. Enjoy!” 

The same heated gaze followed her all the way back to the kitchen where she began tidying up, collecting crumbs with a deliberation akin to slicing atoms. Cloud took it as a sign that he was in charge of ice breaking for once.

“I fixed your door,” he announced, tone insufferably hopeful. 

“Oh?” The bread was next, sliding the loaf remainder into its bag as gently as a swaddled newborn. “Thanks.”

She heard him swallow and tried not to let his obvious discomfort affect her. It was simply too soon. Even he had to know that. 

“Did you sleep well last night?” 

Apparently no, he did know any better. 

At the mention of last night, something in her jaw clicked, closing her eyes to ward away a flash of pain both physical and emotional. How dare he ask that question here. What was he expecting, a performance review? 

Cloud Strife: Part-time Merc / Lover. 11 out of 10 for dexterity. 2 out of 10 for not having a discernible sliver of goddamn empathy. 

“Tifa?” Barret strode over to the gate between them before she was able to get the strain under control. Ducking in an attempt to meet hergaze, the older man noted her clenched fists on the counter, cheeks red and eyes pressed decisively shut. Though his initial impulse was to bust open a certain blonde, cocky-bastard’s head with a stool, knowing how Tifa hated drama on her turf, he instead attempted a more civilized route. “Want me to tag in, get this thirsty son-of-a-bitch a drink? Full price, by the way,” he was sure to add, pointing an accusatory finger in Cloud’s direction. 

“No need.” With a barely discernible sigh, Cloud stood and readjusted his bracers. “Wymer has a few more jobs for me. Just wanted to check-in. That’s all.” 

“Hmm. Better not keep him waitin’ then, huh?” There was no subtlety in the way Barret eyed him; like an overconfident mother rhinoceros glaring at a lion, daring him to even try.

Thankfully, Cloud took the hint and headed for the exit with nothing more than a nod as goodbye. 

“Be careful!” Tifa couldn’t help but tack on just as he stepped over the threshold. Out on the terrace, she saw him pause and tilt his head. Then the doors swung closed and he was once again nothing more than a phantom haunting her every thought. 

The instant the doors stilled, it was like the oxygen levels refilled. Tifa took in a sorely needed gulp of air before continuing to tidy up. 

“Do I even want to know what the hell that was about?” Barret slid into the stool Cloud had vacated and pinned her with a look; one that implied he was torn between giving her a hug and screaming in her face. “Does a certain spikey-haired, pretty-boy need to get some sense shot into him or what?” 

“It’s nothing,” Tifa insisted, sidestepping to the sink to wash the bread knife. “We just had a little miscommunication, that’s all. It’ll be fine.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”

There was a jarring clatter when Tifa threw the knife into the sink. Pressing her palms into her eyelids, she tried to will away a headache layering on top of her still throbbing neck. “It’s none of your business, Barret,” she hissed as darkly as she dared. “I’m dealing with it. Or I _will_ deal with it. So please just...back off.”

Barret’s hands flew into the air in immediate surrender. “Fine! It’s not my place, I gets it. Just a friendly reminder that-” Pausing, he glanced around the bar to ensure no eavesdroppers. The only other patron was still Johnny’s dad, now unconscious on the bartop with a half-eaten sandwich marinating in a puddle of drool by his mouth. Shaking his head, he turned back to Tifa. “We got important shit to do tomorrow. I wouldn’t want you to be _distracted_ , ya know?”

“I remember, Barret,” she said. “I won’t be. Distracted, that is. I got everything under control.”

“If you say so, girl.” Reaching over the bar, Barret pulled up one of the more expensive bottles of whiskey they had in stock. After pouring himself a more than healthy dose, he raised his glass toward her in a mock toast. “For the record, though I may not understand the appeal...in fact, I have no idea how a woman of your caliber can even think about-”

“The point please, if there is one?” Tifa prompted, rotating her wrist in circles. 

“I’m getting to it!” After taking a hearty swig from his glass, wincing as it went down, her friend pinned her with an uncharacteristically somber stare. “We may not make it back from this next mission. You know that, right?”

Shocked by the change in tone, Tifa glanced at Rick again to ensure he was thoroughly comatose before responding. “Yes. I’ve accepted that.”

“Then perhaps…” Another hearty swig drained the glass and he smacked his lips together appreciatively. “Tonight is not a night to hold anything back. You know what I’m saying?”

Not caring for a response, his point made, Barret abruptly pushed his stool away from the bar and stood. Tifa could only follow him with wide, incredulous eyes as he made his way to the back door leading to his family living quarters, one palm sliding down the wood with clear reverence.

“Marlene will be done nappin’ soon,” he said. “I, for one, am gonna spend every spare second I got with the people I care about. To remind myself why I’m fighting, ya know?”

With that, he left her alone behind the bar, trembling with emotions she couldn’t name. 

Long after Rick was collected by Johnny and the place started to fill up with those seeking dinner and other libations to melt away the day’s stress, Barret’s words continued to rattle around in her head like hornets in their nest. 

In an ideal world, she’d avoid Cloud for a couple of days until she had a chance to figure out what she wanted. Or what they could be. But time was not a luxury she had in stock. As she ushered the last few customers out and locked up the liquor cabinets, Tifa was exceedingly aware that this may be the last time she went through the closing routine. 

Heading home that night, fists clenched at her sides, she made a new decision. One that was far from wise but, perhaps, had the greatest likelihood of her getting through this mission without being bogged down by regret. She strode straight past her apartment, worried that if she took even one minute to groom she would lose her nerve. 

It was seven minutes past midnight when she knocked on the door to #202. 

* * *

“Tifa?” Opening the door a mere sliver, Cloud’s eyes widened in surprise. Which they really shouldn’t have considering he had probably heard her stomping footsteps from a block away. Most likely he hadn’t expected her to take the extra five paces to his apartment instead of entering her own space and barricading it against any more “friendship” attempts. 

Biting her lip, she tried to re-summon the courage that had spurred her there in the first place. 

“Hi,” she said, a little choked up and annoyed by that fact. “Can I come in?”

Cloud’s brows furrowed. She could practically see the cogs turning in his head, debating whether it was a good idea, worrying that he could, somehow, make things even worse. 

“I could fix your shirt!” she suggested desperately, before he could overthink too much. “I never got around to it. Last night.”

At the mention of last night, she anticipated an awkward silence to drop like the pressure before a storm. Instead, unexpectedly, he chuckled. “Funny you should say that, cause...” He held out his knit uniform top between the crack in the door, revealing to the balcony lanterns an array of clumsy, wide stitching in a high contrast white thread. “I think I made it worse.”

It was enough to ease the tension and soften her heart. He wasn’t a victim nor an unfeeling merc, adamant in balancing the invisible scale of favors: he was just a man trying to figure life out one shoddy stitch at a time. As she was a woman doing the same. 

“I’d be happy to help.” Shimmying the shirt out of his hands, she pushed into the open seam of his door as he stepped back to let her enter. The room was dark except for a small lamp on the cleared work desk. She nearly yelped upon noticing that his chest was bare, even though that should have been obvious when he revealed his project. He only owned one outfit, after all. 

Swallowing a spurt of nervousness, she made her way to the table at the end of his bed and concentrated on perusing what may have once been a meticulously organized sewing kit now exploded all over the surface. 

“Marle lent me that stuff,” he explained from over her shoulder. “I assumed I could figure out how it worked.”

“And that assumption was wrong?” she teased, plucking out a bundle of thick, navy thread that was much better suited for the job.

“Hmph. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

There it was again. An allusion to the previous evening. She wanted to shrug it off, fix his shirt, make friendly amends, and return to her quarters, but of course - as always - he was throwing land mines onto her intended path. 

They had to talk about it. She had promised herself. 

Taking a moment to gather her wits, Tifa threaded the needle and lay the shirt flat onto the table, ripping out his efforts to begin anew. “About last night…” she began, already feeling her shoulders winding up. “I want to clear the air.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice annoyingly steady. She heard him take a few paces backwards to lean against the opposite wall. As far apart as possible in the small space. “I do too. I-” he sighed and shifted against the steel. Though she still didn’t dare look back to see what pose he had adopted, she expected his arms were crossed over his chest again. “Last thing I wanted to do was make things weird between us. I thought-I read somewhere that orgasms can help with insomni-”

“I know what they do, Cloud!” she interrupted, a heated blush spreading not just into her cheeks but her entire body. Gods, she had never said or heard that word out loud before and here he was, casually tossing it around like any other medical noun. Stabbing the needle into the knit, she began the first row of stitches, desperate for a distraction to keep her from imploding. “I’m not arguing the _health benefits_ of what happened. That’s not why I- why we shouldn’t be... _Ow_! Dammit!”

A mere minute into the project, Tifa somehow managed to mistake her finger for fabric. The needle was buried along a half inch of skin on her index finger. 

At the same time as he moved closer to see what was wrong, she removed the needle, turned around and stepped toward the sink with the intention of rinsing off a blossoming droplet of blood. The result was her walking straight into the solid wall that was his chest while his hands caught her by the biceps to keep from stumbling. 

Instinctively, she looked up and gasped upon realizing how close he was. His face, mako eyes glowing as brightly as ever in the shadows, was mere inches from hers. If she leaned forward ever so slightly, their foreheads would touch. A rush of impulsion begged her to do it, which she frantically stamped to death. 

“Sorry,” he muttered while easing his grip on her arms though not fully letting go, she noticed. His expression remained as neutral as ever, but something about those eyes - the most expressive part of him - spoke volumes of mirrored nerves. Pupils were dilated and practically vibrating in an attempt to focus on her face and face alone. 

Her gulp was comically loud in the near-silent room. 

Hoo-boy. 

What had she come here for again?

After a minute brimming with tension, she finally reined in enough sense to take a step back. He too seemed to snap out of whatever spell held them in limbo and his hands dropped to his sides, fists clenched. The trip to the sink was abandoned. Instead, not really realizing how it could be interpreted, Tifa brought her injured finger to her lips and kept firm eye contact as she sucked the injury clean. 

It was Cloud’s turn to look tortured as his gaze flicked down to her lips, Adam's apple bobbing when he cleared his throat with a small, involuntary grunt. The sound ignited something in her brain, firing synapses all the way down her legs until her toes curled inside her boots. 

Perhaps this was what had been missing the previous night. Why she had felt like she somehow used him. Without seeing his face, for all she knew the entire process had been one-sided and meaningless. 

Maybe there was a fourth conclusion to the list she had made that morning; an in-between of a traditional relationship versus pay for play. The elusive option D: stay friends, good, mutually attracted friends, who occasionally helped each other out with some no-strings-attached stress release. The very idea of such illicit relations made her blood boil to the point that her entire body started to contract. Cloud of course noticed this, eyes raking up and down like the predator SOLDIERs were known to be.

“You’re tense again,” he observed, the corner of his lips curling into that slight, overly confident smirk. 

She wanted to bite the haughty expression right off his mouth.

“I, uh, I suppose I still am. Not that you didn’t help! It’s just- _I_ just-”

“I know. I mean, I get it. There’s no instant fix, right?”

“Yes.” Her laugh came out staggered. In a spurt of bravery, one quivering hand reached out and found perch upon his shoulder, relishing the feel of his smooth, inhumanely warm skin. Knowing it may be her only opportunity, her gaze explored his upper body from this vantage point, marveling at the ridges of his abdomen, the V lines of his hips and the fine trail of pale hair that led beyond his belt. Lean but efficient. Beautiful. “It may take some...practice. I guess.”

“Yeah.” Smirk still in place, he too seemed to have unearthed a bit of confidence and those powerful fingers snaked around her naked stomach. “Physically therapy requires commitment. Repetition.” 

“Mmhmm.” She was officially grinning like an idiot. 

This was so stupid. But also inexplicably _fun_. Even if the transcript of this conversation would go down into the records of worst-flirting-ever. She was tempted to ask what his experience was in this domain, just to satisfy curiosity. An eternal enigma, Cloud seemed to always be straddling the border between smugly overeducated and completely dense. 

As she looked up into those too blue eyes once again, she decided that she didn’t care. She would rather bathe in grenadine than disrupt this moment with a useless listing of past paramours.

However, there was one needling chore that needed to be completed. One that would hopefully tame the fire to a more manageable level, giving her a sorely needed moment of clarity before diving forward. 

“I still need to finish your shirt,” she whispered, gesturing with her chin toward the table. 

His next breath came out a touch whiney, as if he were a little boy and she was making him delay opening his birthday presents. Still, he didn’t argue, proving once again that he would always follow her lead. It made her feel safe. 

“It’ll just take a minute. I promise.” When she turned around, his hand slid from her waist with delicious hesitation and she allowed herself a victorious smile. Gathering the thread, needle, and shirt, she plopped down onto the end of his bed and swept her legs up and to the side. The desk lamp barely offered a small halo of light with which she could work but it was enough. A minute later, the mattress dipped when Cloud crawled in too, leaning against the headboard to wait out the clock as he had yet to glean a chair. Glancing at him, she saw that he was bathed in shadow except for those eyes which seemed to be glowing more furiously than ever. 

Midway through the project, she noticed a tickling sensation by her ankle. Cloud, having grown impatient, was trailing his fingers along her calf, dragging them up and down in mindless but shiver-inducing patterns. There were only four stitches left when he crawled higher, tracing the edges of her thigh high socks and digging beneath the elastic. 

By the time the darning was finished, she was desperate, going so far as to cut the remaining thread off with her teeth before tossing the whole thing onto the desk so violently that she knocked over Marle’s kit. 

It seemed so natural to dive towards his mouth; to finally know what those wet, pink lips of his felt against hers in the ultimate symbol of lovers reunited. Cloud, however, was too quick. As she fell forward, he stamped a hand upon her back and spun them so that she was pressed into the mattress with him nestled between her legs. She didn’t have time to be annoyed about the lack of a kiss because all of a sudden she could feel him. _All_ of him. A solid, lengthy pressure directly against her naked stomach. 

“Cloud!” she gasped, eyes wide in disbelief. As if it were a miracle that she could coax such a reaction from a man, especially while fully clothed and without touching. “You...you’re-”

“I know. Sorry,” he said, a tad breathless and clearly timid as he inched his hips away. “It..I couldn’t help-” 

“It’s okay. It’s good!” She grabbed his head as it began to turn away, needing to nip this shyness in the bud. “It’s good that you want me. I-I needed to know that.”

He looked at her then, all traces of both embarrassment or teasing having fled his expression. “This isn’t about me, Tifa,” he said with utmost seriousness, voice deep and solid. One would think they were discussing a deadly mission. “Tell me you understand that.”

There seemed to be no other choice but to nod her head and acquiesce. “Yes. I understand.” 

Circumventing another exasperating burst of nervousness, Tifa tried to pull him in for that much-desired kiss, but he escaped by tucking his chin and gliding down her body. There was no other preamble before all ten fingers slid into the waistband of her undershorts and yanked them down her legs and over her boots, banishing them to the shadows. 

It was the opposite of last night’s languidness. Somehow, in discussing things and clearing the air, any illusion of patience shattered. She hardly had time to catch her breath before he finally was kissing her for the first time, but at the junction of her right inner thigh instead of her mouth. 

“Oh!” At the first press of his lips, she nearly shot through the roof, one hand lowering to tangle in his hair that was half-hidden beneath her skirt. “Wait...Cloud! What-what are you-” She cut off when he moved to the other side and her whole body bucked. “What are you _doing_?”

Flipping the edge of her skirt up, he raised his head to meet her gaze briefly, each hand gripping a thigh just above the edge of her thigh-high socks to keep her open to him. “I’m going down on you. I think. If that’s okay?”

In a brief flash of clarity, Tifa saw what she _should_ do. 

Though they had justified their actions to one another and she had had the thrill of discovering the attraction was mutual, this was still too fast, even if they were to debate an official friends-with-benefits contract. She _should_ have gently pushed him away by the shoulders while sitting up herself. She _should_ initiate an inevitably awkward but necessary conversation covering mutually agreed-upon rules, expectations, protections, etc.. Only then would they be able to proceed in a way she could be entirely comfortable with. One that included such highlights as kissing on the lips to start and endings of reciprocal satisfaction.

All these things she should have done. 

Instead, she nodded frantically, throwing her head back onto the pillow as he dove back underneath her skirt. His words, the blunt voicing of his intentions…it had made her ache for his touch in a way she didn’t know she could. To the point where the very idea of interrupting made her want to thrash and weep in a child-like temper tantrum. 

The conversation would happen eventually. Later. Now though...

Her eyes clenched shut in thrilled terror as one of his hands wandered higher and gently began stroking. Having learned his lesson the night prior, he knew very well where to concentrate to have her squirming and huffing within a mere minute, but then he pulled away and massaged the outer folds, stretching her open a little and pressing a bit too softly for her liking. Though she had no experience with how this act typically unravelled, it just felt bizarre and she debated offering some humble direction to lead to a sure-fire explosion. That was before his tongue entered the fray. 

She would never dare to doubt him again. 

Warm wetness pressed against that bundle of nerves with merciless pressure and she could not restrain a yelp. Overnight he seemed to have become a fluent speaker in the language of her body, not bothering to ask this time if something was alright or what felt good. She would tug on his hair if he pressed a little too roughly and otherwise would adjust based on how she angled her hips, coaxing him deeper, tongue sliding all the way inside of her at one point, nose nudging her sweet spot, instantly making her quiver. 

Gods, was it thrilling. Foreign and forbidden. Especially in combination with those warm fingers, which could have easily succeeded on their own. This was a slower journey, more like a mountain hike than cliff climbing, but the peak was just as visible. 

She had read about this “going down” business in her scandalous books. To her, it had always seemed messy and, frankly, a little distasteful. Something to giggle about in privacy, curled up in the dark, but never actually consider with a partner. She wondered if he hadn’t been so determined and if they had taken the time to calmly discuss their formal arrangement, would she have allowed him to do this or would self-consciousness have overwhelmed intrigue?

Perhaps. 

Maybes didn’t matter at that moment. Not when a finger curled inside her, drawing ‘come hither’ motions against her front wall at the same time as his lips wrapped around that tiny knot and _sucked_. Something was drawn out of her throat when he did that, loud enough that Cloud was forced to stop, popping up from under her skirt to pin her with a concerned stare. His hair was a complete disarray, standing up in all directions and his lips and chin glistening with her slick. 

“Shh,” he chastised quietly, equal parts amused and scolding. “You’ll wake Marle if you keep that up.” 

“S-sorry,” she mumbled, slapping a hand onto her mouth to muffle involuntarily, manic giggles. He just looked so ridiculous. She _felt_ so ridiculous. Tingling and a hot mess. With her spare hand she took hold of his hair again and pressed down as forcefully as she dared in a desperate bid for him to carry on. Flashing a grin, he dove straight back to work and repeated the torturous maneuver. 

It was a scream. Definitely a scream that rose out of her, but at least this time she was prepared and bit into her knuckles to suppress it.

He did it again, a longer suck and firmer pressure of his mouth. Her hips lifted off the mattress, and he had to use his other hand to force her back down. Recognizing that it was too much, he relented, returning to those gentle strokes and laps in senseless patterns that drew fire inside and around her. She felt her skin start to bead with sweat, the edge of her thigh highs chafing from friction against his ears. 

As she rode the gentle wave of his nimble tongue, cresting to the heights only to come crashing down, Tifa’s hands fell back to the headboard and held on for dear life. She stared at the ceiling and swore it was the clear night sky, stars blinking down at her with such blindingly beautiful brightness that moisture started to pool in the corners of her eyes. 

She was getting to the point where she didn’t think she could take anymore, feeling so wound up that any more tightness could only result in her shattering into a thousand pieces. She started shaking her head side to side against the pillow, knees bending, breath catching, toes curling. Then, with perfect timing, he thrust his tongue and finger into her as deep as they could go and _moaned_. 

It was that sound more than anything that pushed her over the edge this time. The ceiling starscape exploded into a shower of sparks that she had no choice but to close her eyes against its brilliance, a swallowed scream turning her throat as dry as ash. It lasted eons. Long after her hold on the headboard started to slacken as her energy drained, she still felt the pulsing of her walls, twitching deep inside where his fingers were still nestled and relentless. 

This couldn’t just be about friends exchanging favors. He proved this by crawling out from under her skirt just when she started to crumble apart, one hand making tiny thrusts to help her ride it out while the other wrapped underneath her shoulders and drew her close as she trembled and panted for sorely needed air. 

_This_ was the best part so far. Not the orgasm that had her seeing stars, but the way he held her for long minutes afterward. Gently and lovingly, the thumb of his free hand tracing pacifying circles onto her back, head nestled into the hollow space between her shoulder and neck. It was in such contrast to how things had ended the night before that she almost burst into tears from sheer relief. 

Thank goodness Barret had coaxed her into tying up loose ends tonight. Whatever happened during the upcoming mission, she would face it without regrets weighing her down. 

Only once she stopped shaking did his fingers slide out of her, resting innocently on her waist near where they were pressed together. A small, curious shimmy of her hips made him suck in his breath and she could feel that he was still hard as a rock. 

Good.

The night was young. 

Wearing a satisfied smile, she turned her head so that her lips lined up with his ear. “My turn,” she whispered in what she hoped was a seductive manner, mischievous fingers crawling down his back and over the curve of his hip until they were just able to brush against-

“Don’t.” 

His hand, the one that has been so lovingly caressing her, flew to her wrist and gripped tightly, pulling her away with excessive force. She was still registering surprise when he already pushed off of her and fumbled in the dim light for the shirt she had repaired, pulling it over his head and punching his arms through the sleeves so hurriedly that he almost ripped several new holes.

“Cloud?” Sitting up gingerly, adjusting her skirt as she did so, Tifa tried to translate his mood from the vague outline of his back. He sat hunched over on the edge of the mattress, head in his hands, foot-tapping a restless beat, everything inch of him radiating anxiety. 

“Cloud?” She repeated, shuffling closer. “Are you oka-” Only after she placed a hand on his shoulder did he leap to his feet, backing up until he hit the opposite wall so hard it jostled the toiletries by the sink. 

Tifa also jumped, all of a sudden feeling like she was in this dark room with a stranger. She tried to look at him to expel this disturbing sentiment, but he was mostly hidden in shadow, eyes glued to the floorboards. 

“You should go,” he said after a minute of charged silence. “It’s an important day tomorrow. You need rest.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Tifa wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her biceps to ward away a chill. Still, she could not help but take a final swing. “The bar is not open tomorrow though. So, technically, I can sleep in. We could try-”

“Tifa,” he said in a never-before-heard tone of ultimate distress. “I told you. This isn’t about me. Never was. Okay?” 

She debated for a couple of seconds, mouth opening and closing with hundreds of half-formed excuses. She even thought about pressing him, using whatever “seductive wiles” nature had blessed her to compile an offer he could not refuse. He had wanted her. She had felt it. It shouldn’t be so difficult. But something about the way he was avoiding her eyes, chest heaving with deep but quiet breaths, made her not want to even try. 

She needed to get out of that room. 

Now. 

“Oh-okay. Fine.” She didn’t even bother finding her discarded shorts, simply standing and straightening her skirt while taking brisk steps toward the door. “Good night then, Cloud.”

“Good night, Tifa.” 

The door was shut so urgently behind her that it pushed her the final inch over the threshold. 

Just like that, for the second evening in a row, Tifa was left alone in Stargazer Heights, her libido satisfied but the rest of her more hollow than ever. 

“What. The. _Hell?_ ” she whispered to an empty street, clutching the upper floor railing so tightly it started to splinter. 

What an infuriating sequence of events that just when she felt she had figured the man out he did something to prove he was still far from stable. One step forward, two steps back: the tango of godsdamn insanity. 

Seeing little other choice, Tifa marched over to her own apartment, taking a moment to fidget with the new knob and lock he had installed for her earlier in the day, before prepping for bed. Cloud was right about one thing. Tomorrow night’s mission was important and she needed rest. 

They’d talk tomorrow. Seriously talk. No more illicit favors in the dead of night until they figured things out. Then she could head to Reactor 5 with as clear a conscience as possible, trusting that he could keep Sector 7 safe in her and Barret’s absence. 

That was the intention at least. 

The next morning, pulled from their beds by screams, Tifa and Cloud discovered that the Whispers of Fate had other plans. 

* * *

***Author’s Note**:** Not my fav chapter (I still cringe at my smut writing) but I’ve finished the text and been nit-picking it for two weeks now, so I figured I should just release it into the wild and move on. Anyway, hope you are enjoying my exploration of these two lovely idiots figuring out how to “improve their friendship” or whatever. Thank you for sticking with me and, I promise, things will balance out eventually :). Many thanks for your amazing comments. They light up my life. Shout out to Dr. Waffle for being beta extraordinaire/cheerleader/drinking buddy. 

Additional, tremendous thanks to **sossori** for this beautiful artwork of Cloud eating ramen "An inestimable crumb of time". It's gorgeous and I am honored! <https://archiveofourown.org/works/26201755>


	6. Catch

_“If you can’t find the key to happiness, pick the lock.”_

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 6: Catch_

They were halfway to the Sector 7 train station when Tifa’s feet stuck to the ground, her body somehow refusing to take another step. Knowing Barret was waiting a mere quarter mile down the path did nothing to untether her. In all honesty, if she focused too much on the train careening with unstoppable force toward a destiny she still didn’t know she wanted any part of, it made her wish the planet would just finish the job and swallow her whole. 

“Tifa?” Of course, Cloud noticed and fell back in line beside her, expression concerned. Always concerned. Had been since they had been ripped from their respective beds that morning by a hurricane of phantoms only they could see. 

That was a whole other mystery she didn’t have the wherewithal to even ponder. The result was still Jessie being injured badly enough that she couldn’t walk and thus Cloud was accompanying them, _again,_ on a second probable suicide mission. Another day, another bomb. Another chance to reconsider exactly how much her precious revenge ought to cost. 

The life-threatening jobs, the prompting of illicit favors and now this. 

She really was a terrible friend.

“Tifa,” he repeated after a few seconds of her not answering, daring to take a step closer “You okay?”. 

Tifa’s instinct was to shake her head. So she did while also sliding sideways to increase the distance between them. At that moment, her nerves were a tangle of gun-powder dipped string and he, a wayward spark. Barret had offered time to sort their affairs; an hour at least until the last train that could get them to the rendezvous point. For once she decided to sideline efficiency. There must be something - _anything -_ positive she could accomplish before venturing out and harming an untold number of faceless strangers. Something selfless. A twisted ankle would surely benefit from that expensive elixir she kept in a lockbox under the sink for emergencies. 

Yes. That would do it. Perfect. 

Tifa swiveled on her heel and took another deep breath, just like Cloud instructed on the terrace a few minutes prior, before marching back in the direction from which they had come. The ex-SOLDIER followed without question all the way to 7th Heaven.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she promised with a tight smile as they jogged up the staircase. Adrenaline had strangled any potential awkwardness regarding the previous night’s events. It was almost fortunate that they had been forced to leap into battle; a well-timed reminder of how well they _could_ communicate when the stakes were high and the goal clear. “I want to give Jessie something.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You really don’t-” She didn’t bother finishing, instead huffing a sigh. Cloud had that determined look in his eye and there wasn’t time to argue. “Fine.”

When she swung open the doors to 7th Heaven, it was revealed to be dark and quiet. Nothing but the hum of the refrigerator and creaking floorboard to break the otherwise unnerving silence. 

They were alone. 

In the same instant she noticed this, the memories of last night came flooding back and threatened to drown her, layering upon an already fathomless pool of guilt. A mere few hours ago, he had been enthusiastically pressing his tongue against her most sensitive parts and then, upon her trying to return the favor, she had been pretty much tossed out the door like a starving stray cat. She realized then, now that she had a moment to be still and breathe, it wasn’t awkwardness towards Cloud she had been suppressing all morning. It was a unique amalgamation of concern and rage.

What was _wrong_ with him? 

“There’s a note.” Impervious to her change in mood, Cloud brushed past and behind the bar, yanking a receipt covered in red crayon scribblings from among Marlene’s fridge gallery. “Wedge took Jessie and Marlene to his place,” he announced. “Jessie needed rest and it’s quieter there.” 

Tifa gave a non-committal grunt in response, frozen in the middle of the floor with her fists clenched, equally terrified of stepping back onto the station path or forward, deeper into the shadows. 

“Tifa?” Cloud let the paper float down onto the counter, as if it were to blame for the sudden tension in the air. He could sense it now, she was certain thanks to those SOLDIER skills; the way her cheeks flushed and her teeth clenched, vision now tinged red.

He gulped. “Something wrong?”

In battle, the guy could instantly tell when she needed a defender, an item or a leg up. How dense could one be, with all those enhancements, to not comprehend what the issue was now and insist that she put it into words? 

Last night, for a glorious few minutes, she had thought she had seen the glimmer of a new path on the horizon. One which, had the evening ended as it should have, diverted sharply from a deadly train track and instead toward greener pastures of comfort and peace. Only to have him rip it all away at the last second. 

It wasn’t fair. 

_Life_ wasn’t fair. She understood that better than most and thought she had long since accepted it. 

The only thing she was certain of right then was that she needed a drink.

Cloud reached a hand out as she joined him behind the bar, on the cusp of intervening, but he wisely fell silent as she grabbed a bottle, poured herself a generous portion and brought it to her lips. Only once the sweet liquor hit her tongue did she realize what a bad idea alcohol was. No matter how much she desired its wondrous, mind-clouding powers. 

Marching over to the kitchenette sink, she spat and tipped the glass to discard the remainder, wiping her lips with the back of her hand to muffle an involuntary sob. 

She really, _really_ didn’t want to be doing this. Especially with him. Especially today.

“Go home.”

Pressing the rim of the empty glass to her lips, Tifa turned. Cloud was only a few steps away but his eyes had that glow about them, making his shadowed form an unavoidable focus point.

“What?” she said, aghast. “What do you mean ‘go home’? I-I can’t just- ”

“You don’t want to do his,” he elaborated, gesturing towards the door. “So go home. Barret, Biggs and I can handle things.”

A laugh ripped out of her as she shook her head. Something as sadistic and bitter as the liquor which still bathed her tongue. “No. I committed to this. I’m going. I just need a minute. I’ll be okay in a minute, I swear.” 

“Fine. But you need to find a way to relax.”

“No shit.” Something in her tone, uncharacteristically harsh, seemed to have hit a nerve and his face fell like that of a kicked puppy. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m just-“

“I know. How can I help?” 

Fifty minutes now until the last train. Tifa’s hands, still frustratingly shaky, lowered onto the countertop on either side of the sink, gripping the glass so hard it was starting to crack. She stared at the door as if it were a priceless artwork and pondered: when her life inevitably flashed before her eyes later today, what she would truly regret if she never came back from this mission?

The answer was incontestable. 

“We need to talk,” she demanded quietly.

Cloud shifted his stance, arms rising to cross over his chest like a tough SOLDIER being interrogated by a hostile party. “About what?”

The false aloofness made her, again, want to hit him. 

“Cloud…don’t do that. Don’t pretend-”

Words failed her at the same time as his arms fell to his sides, the facade impossible to keep up for long in such an intimate space. Like holding one’s breath. Eventually, he admitted: “I don’t know what you want me to say. I already explained that-”

“Health-benefits for my insomnia. Yeah, I remember. But that can’t be all of it. Not after-” She swallowed the impulse to remind him exactly what had happened. How he had instinctively pressed his hips into hers. The animalistic noises he had made. Something in his demeanor implied that he was blocking that part out somehow. “I want you to tell me the truth. Why won’t you let me touch you? What are your...incentives?” 

Gods did she hate how that sentence sounded. Like she was her father interrogating a suitor. Cloud’s intentions certainly weren’t cruel. They were merely evanescent; as impossible to grasp as the spirits that had harassed them that very morning. 

“If you want to forget anything happened, that’s fine. We can stop.”

Tifa scoffed. “That wasn’t the question.”

He swallowed and it was oddly loud in the empty space. Still, his lips remaining persistently pinched together. Tifa sensed her patience, like the glass still held in hand, starting to shatter. 

“I didn’t ask for you to do any of that. If you think you _owed_ me or something, I-” 

“That’s not it,” he interrupted, eyes widening as it occurred to him how very badly his actions could have been interpreted. “Please don’t think that I-” He sighed, arms swinging uselessly at his sides. “It’s like I said the other night. I could sense that you were uncomfortable and I wanted to help. That’s all.” 

That may have been how it had started, but something had changed since, whether he wanted to admit it or not. 

“Well then,” Tifa tossed the ruined glass into the sink. “Mission _not_ accomplished.” 

“Sorry. I’m not very good at reading people.” Shifting his stance, Cloud tried to catch her gaze, hoping his expression was enough to drive home his genuine regret. Tifa however was still staring into the abyss of the sink, seemingly catatonic.“I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“I’m not _mad_ I’m- I don’t know what I am, Cloud.” A sour stew of tired and frustrated and terrified and needy. Always needy. 

“We’re still friends, right?” 

Tifa tsked and he felt a jolt of fear. It was an emotion he hadn’t experienced in a long while and had long lost the taste for. After a minute of silence, he found the courage to place a hand on her shoulder. “Right, Tifa?” 

Even covered by thick leather, his touch still ignited her nerves and they burst into fireworks beneath the surface of her skin. It was a sorely needed warmth radiating from where they connected down the network of her veins, careening with focused intensity between her legs. Her brain pleaded with her to shrug him off, march to the train station and get this mission over with. Her heart, however...her heart still needed _something._ Not just to take the edge off, but to remind her what she was fighting for, still hopeful that the paths of vigilante justice and inner peace converged somewhere down the line. 

“Cloud.” His name on her tongue came out raspier than normal, neck instinctively craning towards him until her cheek brushed against his glove. His grip tightened as if he knew exactly what she was asking for with the one breathy word. 

They could both envision exactly how the next twenty minutes _could_ play out. Right there, on top of the bar; an encore performance that would lead to shaking limbs, pitched cries followed by, inevitably, a long, excruciating journey to Sector 5. 

Not this time. 

Tifa wanted him to talk. He, more than anything, wanted Tifa to feel safe and good. That was the whole point. That’s what heroes did. 

If talking was what she needed…

“What do you want?” he asked in a similarly gruff tone as one finger trailed along her cheek; a promising caress. 

Tifa almost laughed, remembering how just minutes ago he had stated that he wasn’t good at reading people. What a complete lie if one considered physiology. She suspected he was touching her now because his enhanced senses picked up the spike in her heartbeat when he had stepped closer, the tightening of her muscles and perhaps even the scent of her hormones surging. This time, however, he was hesitating. Perhaps it had only now occurred to him that this - whatever it was they were doing - couldn’t just be about physical relief. Maybe she needed more. It was a simultaneously fascinating and horrifying thought. 

“What do I want?” she echoed, eyelids fluttering closed.

The answer wasn’t one she could voice. Not yet and definitely not to him. It was too intimate. 

What she truly wanted at the end of the day was simple but secret. 

She wanted to be loved. 

In every sense of the word. 

Thoroughly, passionately and, most importantly, mutually. Enough so that this entire revenge obsession of hers could be dispelled and not only for a few brief minutes in the dark but for always. It was quite the tall order for anyone to fill, yet alone a man still healing, and it wasn’t going to happen today. 

For now, considering the fleeting minutes they had to spare, she condensed these dreams into something more realistic. Much like when she had decided to makeover the bar and chipped away visions of skylights and granite countertops for pendant bulbs and polished wood. It was the best she could do with her meager resources and that made it good enough. 

Cloud and anything he had to offer was good enough. 

“I want you,” she admitted in a shaky breath, purposefully vague. 

“Hmm,” Cloud acknowledged as the hand on her shoulder drifted downward, thumbing a gentle line down her bicep as he moved to stand behind her. “How?”

This time he seemed determined not to risk a misunderstanding. It was sweet. So much so that Tifa felt a smile tug on her lips despite the horrors the day had and would continue to behold.

Shanghaied by desire, Tifa formulated a strategy as she always did before diving into battle. It was entirely honest when she had said she wanted him, but most likely he wouldn’t imagine the fine print to said request. Not until he felt a stitch of the desperation she was currently tangled up in. If last night were anything to go by, she knew just how to summon it.

Her hand grabbed the one on her shoulder and tugged off his glove, tossing it somewhere to the side counter. Taking the hint, arms caging her from behind, he undid the bracer and glove of his other arm in front of her face and similarly let it fall, until both of his bare hands slid on top of hers on either side of the sink, fingers intertwining. 

“How?” he repeated, a sliver more demanding this time. Almost as if his infamously deep well of patience was running dry. 

Perfect. 

Biting her lip, Tifa allowed logic to reign for a second as she glanced toward the entrance through the kitchenette’s chain-link divider wall. The bar’s curtains were drawn shut but still sheer, the door closed but not locked, the remaining Avalanche members absent but nearby. It was risky. But not any more than their plans for the rest of the day. She needed this. They both deserved it. 

“I want you to- _Gods_.” She interrupted herself to chuckle and shake her head, still embarrassed despite all they had already explored together. The hands on top of her own squeezed as incentive. “I want you to make me forget.”

 _“_ You have to tell me _how?_ ” again he asked, pushing his chest against her back until her hips pressed against the counter edge, just on the cusp of menacing. 

“Inside me,” she confessed, nodding frantically as the hazy words finally took shape. “I want you inside me.”

He took it exactly the way she figured he would, hands sliding away from hers off the counter, over her hips and beneath her skirt from behind. Sensing impatience on both their parts, knowing the clock was ticking, he didn’t tease before grasping the hems of her shorts and shimmying them down, down, _down_ , lips pressing against the bare areas of her spine as he went _._ The kissing was something new and she almost choked more at that sensation than the removal of her undergarments. He stopped when the black scrap of fabric reached her knees, expecting the need for a quick getaway, grabbing one thigh in each hand to pry them apart as far as possible within the confines of the elastic. On his way back up, one hand followed the curve over her bare buttox while the other ventured between and one thumb slipped inside her.

She hissed at the sensation at the same time as he gasped with clear reverence.

“Wha-what’s wrong?” It was Tifa’s turn to inquire, shocked and amused that he wasn’t wearing the mask of indifference today. 

“...Nothing.” He stuttered after a long pause while unfurling back to full height, the thumb pulling out so that the other hand’s index finger could wander forward over her stomach, pulling her a few inches away from the counter edge so that he could travel under her skirt from the front this time. He slid his palm along the entire length of her as if for confirmation and it took all of Tifa’s concentration to keep her knees from buckling. “It’s just...you’re already very…”

The sentence fumbled and Tifa allowed herself a victorious smirk at his awestruck tone. Of course she was incredibly wet, even if the actual touching had only begun less than a minute prior. Didn’t he know that sometimes all it took was a glimpse of his arms defined by the low light, the flash of his eyes, the huskiness in his tone? Did he still consider this whole thing, after two nights together, mere mechanical biology? Touch equalled response equalled release?

It made her more determined than ever for this session to end differently. To educate him as much as he had her. 

“I’ve been like this for hours,” she admitted breathlessly as he began to drag a single digit back and forth along her entrance. “Ever since our first... _mmph-_ battle. This morning.” 

“Really?” As if to reward her for the confession, he pushed inside all the way to the second knuckle, inspiring a whimper. She could feel his breath against her neck and was thrilled to notice it was a tad faster. “Why? How?”

She almost laughed at how desperate he seemed, but didn’t want to push her luck. He was talking. He was _invested_. They were on their way. “I couldn’t help it. Watching you move, so fierce and-and _focused_ and-” She lost momentum when his thumb started pressing against the swollen tangle of nerves near the top, words beyond possibility as the electric shock of it coursed through her. Had his true and only quest been to get her off as efficiently as possible, all he would have had to do was continue like that for a mere minute longer and it would be complete. Tifa’s secret mission would be considered a failure. 

Luckily, curiosity seemed to have overwhelmed the need for speed this time, and he slipped out of her, choosing to press his palm against her mound and grind in slow circles. Enough to keep the fire raging without imploding. 

It was a silent plea to continue. She accepted, closing her eyes and leaning her head back so that it fell against his deltoid like a boulder, his free arm snaking around her stomach to lock her against him. It was the closest they had ever been, his front molded against her back tightly enough so that she could feel every inch of him. 

_Every._ solid. inch. 

That didn’t take long, she thought with a smile.

“Ever since that night at the ramen stand, after you threatened Theo for me,” she continued, spurred by the evidence pressing against her lower back. “I’ve not been able to stop imagining this. Every time I see you fight, it gets worse.”

He hummed in understanding, mindlessly dragging his lips behind her ear. “Is that all it takes to make you this way?”

Most people’s tones would have been teasing but Cloud sounded genuinely anxious. So she humored him, also needing to nip in the bud any impression that it was the violence of all things that turned her on. “No.” She shook her head back and forth along his clavicle. “That’s not...it’s the way you move. Whether killing pests, swapping filters or even just walking. The way you look at me sometimes, like you’re broken and I’m an _elixir_ . I don’t care about your strength. I don’t want or need anyone to fight my - _ahh! - b-_ battles for me.” 

“I know that. I still don’t understand.” Realizing that it was most likely his ministrations below keeping him from getting a straight answer, he relented, hand sliding away to rest on her hip for a sorely needed moment of clarity. “You’re Tifa. You’re powerful and smart and _beautiful_ and...why me? I’m just- I don’t get it. I don’t-”

“You’re enough,” she confessed with a whimper, missing the heat of his fingers like a lost limb. “You’re enough, dammit. You’re _home_ . I just...I _missed_ you and- and I need…”

Words officially failing her, her hands reached behind her back and tugged on his belts, trying to undo them blindly. Desperation had consumed her by that point. When he asked what she had wanted, she had said to be inside her. But it wasn’t just his fingers nor tongue she expected to fulfil that promise this time.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hissed when the tips of her fingers brushed against him, but he didn’t push her away like last night. Something was different this time. She could tell by the way he held her more tightly and buried his head into the crook of her neck. He was succumbing. “I-We shouldn’t…I don’t deserve-”

The first of two buckles was undone just for ceremony, to prove how far she was willing to go, before she relented and brought her hands forward to the sink edges. The ball was in his court now. All she could do was make it as obvious as possible that the field was open for play. His nails dug into her outer thighs as if for dear life while she leaned forward over the basin, knowing very well that her skirt had ridden up to her waist and he was getting quite the view considering her undershorts had fallen to her ankles. 

He swore again and she heard the slapping of a palm to face. Glancing over her shoulder, she was amused to note that his hand was to his forehead, gripping the blonde spikes of his hair as if trying to physically extract his desires. His eyes were glowing more furiously than she had ever seen, a bright ring of teal practically illuminating their dark corner. 

So close. One could almost see his resolve crumbling behind his shaky expression. If she had been a more assertive, less empathetic woman, she would have finished the job of his belts, wrapped her legs around him and let nature dictate the rest. But Tifa was never one to push. She was bent over the bar, fully submissive for once in her life, because she needed it to be his choice, his decisive action, that moved them onward this time. All she could do was keep looking at him and pray. 

It all came down to this. Either he wanted to be with her or he didn’t. Simple. 

“Tifa.” The way he said her name, so full of longing, stoked the fire further. To the point that if he merely brushed against her now, she was sure to explode. “I...Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” she said emphatically, without hesitation. “I need you.”

“You have me,” he responded. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I suppose I do.”

Turning her head forward again for privacy, she listened to the clink of his second buckle coming undone with a strange detachment, not daring to even blink lest she frighten whatever muse had inspired him to finally _take_ for once. When he finally leaned over her, it was his hands that she felt first, pressing up along her spine to ease any discomfort, as tender as the massage he had bestowed upon her that first time in her room. 

She surrendered to it fully, arching when those same fingers arrived at her nape and tangled into her hair for purchase. Then she felt him. The tip of his bare length pressing against her backside; a heat-seeking missile destined to devastate. Instinct prompted her to raise her hips to improve the angle and the slippery accumulation pooling between her legs allowed an especially smooth slide past that tight circle of heat.

He sunk into her slowly. Too slowly. To the point where time seemed to stop and her lungs burned from holding her breath until he was fully sheathed. At the same time, one of the hands in her hair ventured downward, over her stomach and hip, until two fingers were pressing decisively onto her clit at the same moment he was as far as he could go, rocking their bodies forward against the counter. 

She came with a yell.

She didn’t mean to, but it was impossible to suppress. 

Something about the waiting, the stress and the cumulation of sensation had ended things before they had really begun

It was her turn to swear. 

“Did you just…?” She was still in the throes of it when he asked. All she could do was nod and whimper while gripping the faucet for dear life, clenching and gasping. 

“Wow. _Damn._ ” It was for entirely different reasons that he fell forward a second later, his head on her shoulder and eyes squeezed shut.

“Are y-you okay?” she inquired shakily, still not fully recovered. 

“Don’t move. Please.” Both hands slapped onto her hips to force her still, as she hadn’t realized she was wriggling, insides fluttering with aftershocks. “I can’t…”

She felt the hot vapor of his breath against her skin and realized that she wasn’t the only one over stimulated. To imagine that he had been holding himself back this entire time, for days if not weeks if not years. Of course it was to be expected that this could be overwhelming. 

Reaching down, she caught one of his hands and wove their fingers together. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re enough. You’re _more_ than enough.” 

“Tifa.” His teeth sunk lightly into the skin of her shoulder when he thrust for the second time and then released to suck in sorely needed oxygen. Both acknowledged that this wouldn’t take long, which was only slightly disappointing. She couldn’t complain considering his selfless performances over the last few days. “Tifa…” Another thrust and she felt him pulsing inside of her, a mere hair’s breadth from completely breaking apart. All of his reactions, movements and whispers of her name seemed to coalesce and conspired to trigger something unexpected. The tingling in her core shot up like a rocket for an encore crescendo.

The sensation was too much and she gritted her teeth, groaning into the edge of the counter in a failed attempt to muffle it. 

“I’m coming again,” she announced through heavy pants, not wanting him to worry. 

“R-really? Is that even-” She clenched around him involuntarily, cutting off the words “ _Gods_ , Tifa.”

“ _Cloud!_ ” He rocked into her again. And again. 

“ _Tifa!_ I’m- _”_

“Hey Tifa. Heya Cloud.”

Wedge elbowed through the doors to 7th Heaven, arms laden with not two but three overstuffed bags which hid most of his face from view. Behind the counter, they froze. Unable to do anything but watch with wide eyes and heaving chests as their friend struggled to keep everything balanced. 

“Whoa. Whoa! Awwwww, mannnn.” The Avalancher lamented as a cream-filled pastry succumbed to gravity and splattered onto the floor. Frowning at it like a fallen comrade, Wedge dropped his wares on a nearby table to avoid any more casualties. “Surprised to find you two here. Aren’t you supposed to be-”

His words cut off when he looked up to find an empty bar. Strange. He had sworn he had seen the two of them right-

“Hey!” Tifa popped up on the opposite side from the kitchen like a funhouse animatronic.

“Geez, Teef!” A hand flew to his chest. “You know I’ve got that heart thing. Take it easy on me, will ya?”

“S-Sorry.” Pushing her hair behind her ears, Tifa threw him what she hoped was a realistic smile, even though her wobbly legs could barely hold her upright. “I uh-I just was surprised to see you. Aren’t you watching Jessie and Marlene?”

“Course I am. What do you think all this is for, huh?” He gestured to the bursting tote bags. “The ladies demanded snacks and I, their humble servant, intend to deliver. Just need to borrow some ketchup and I’ll be-GAH”

Cloud, fully dressed, just as suddenly popped up behind the kitchen counter, moving to wash his hands in the sink. He shot Wedge a brief nod of acknowledgement but was otherwise concentrated on his task.

Wedge turned to Tifa to ask what the hell was wrong with the guy, only to discover his friend acting just as oddly, dragging an old receipt like a rag back and forth over the already spotless countertop, gaze fixed to the clock above the door. 

Not known for tact, Wedge’s face twisted into a grimace. “What is _up_ with you two? 

“Nothing!” they snapped in unison. 

“Okay. Whatever. I got bigger fish to fry. Literally. Princess Marlene requested calamari _and_ breaded halibut for dinner.”

The Tifa of yesterday would have teased him for bowing to the pressures of a four-year-old, but today’s version could only offer a flash of a sympathetic grin. She glanced out of the corner of her eye towards Cloud, who had been washing his hands for a solid two minutes by that point, hoping for some kind of solidarity in mutual mortification. But the ex-SOLDIER didn’t appear flustered. On the contrary. He looked stern as ever, on the verge of anger, as he scrubbed violently at invisible stains on his palms. 

“Well, happy explosioning or whatever it is people say in these situations.” Wedge, having completed the ketchup quest, threw them a lazy salute before turning to leave.

“Wedge, wait!” Snapping out of her haze, Tifa jogged toward the sink. She tried not to show any discomfort as she gently nudged Cloud’s hips out of the way to dive under the counter and retrieve the valuable elixir, pretending not to notice when he flinched. After all, this was the main reason she had come back to the bar. 

Right?

“For Jessie,” she explained, tossing the bottle over. “Her ankle seemed pretty bad and this will speed up healing.” 

Upon reading the label, a grin split across Wedge’s wide face. “Oh, hell yeah! This plus a good, heavy meal and maybe she’ll finally pass out and let me watch my own TV for a few minutes. Thanks, Teef!” 

“No problem. Good luck.”

“You too!” 

With nothing further, oblivious of the damage his presence had caused, the Avalancher grabbed his bags and was out the door. 

Tifa and Cloud were alone again. Silence fell upon them like a suffocating smog.

Not knowing what else to do, Tifa chuckled and brought her arms over her head in a stretch, choosing to find amusement in the ridiculousness of the situation. “You okay?” 

At long last, Cloud closed the faucets, sighing as he did so. “Yeah. Lucky Wedge showed up when he did.”

“Lucky?” Tifa repeated, brows knitted. “I’d argue the opposite, no?”

Lips pressed together, Cloud shook his head and moved to dry his hands on a nearby dishtowel. “We should go. Barret is waiting.” 

“Seriously?” Determined not to make a trilogy out of their so far baffling sexual escapades, Tifa took three giant strides and blocked his path before he could pass the gate to the bar proper. “No. No! I-I refuse. You can’t just _leave_ this time! You were just...We were _both_ about to-”

“Tifa. Please.” There it was again. That helpless tone. One that made all her offensive urges shatter like windows in a hurricane. It was worse this time because she was standing in front of him and here, in daylight, she could see his eyes. They were dim now. When the glow didn’t distract it was easier to notice how filled with pain they were. The surprise of it made her stagger and that was enough of an opening that he was able to brush past and out onto the terrace. 

She followed. What other choice did she have?

The train was waiting. 

* * *

****Author’s Note**:** There’s a joke going around the Discord server that I once wrote a 10 page hand job. That was chapter 4 and I managed to trim it down for this story. Welcome to the 10 page half-sex scene! I have two chapters left of this random experiment in Cloti characterization + smut writing, but I am uber excited about the outline of my upcoming project “The Curriculum” which is my first foray into AU, starring Teacher!Cloud. Please look out for it if curious. Thank you always for your comments and criticism via review/comments, which inspire me to write faster. I hope you enjoyed it. 


	7. Key

_“Don’t give up. Normally it is the last key on the ring which opens the door.”_

\-- Paulo Coelho

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 7: Key_

The last forty-eight hours had been interesting, to say the least. 

Between meeting up with Barret, bombing the reactor, and the titillating mayhem of Wall Market, there hadn’t been a spare second to think about let alone discuss what had happened back at the bar. At one point during the chaos, for a full day of agonizing despair, Tifa thought she’d never have the chance at all. 

The memory of Cloud falling from the plate, figure absorbed by the burning reactor’s smoke as he dropped endless stories below like a rock into a black lake; it would never stop haunting her. Even here, now, as they navigated the sewers back to Sector 7 and he was walking right in front, solid and human and _alive_ , she still couldn’t get the image out of her head. 

She had lost him. 

Then, against all odds, she had found him again. Or, more accurately, he had found her.

However, as Tifa stared at the girl in the pink dress rattling the bars of a locked gate, she was starting to think that maybe she had never had him to begin with. 

“Well, looks like we’re going to have to find a key. I bet it’s somewhere around here,” Aerith said while tapping her fingers to her chin. “I have an idea. Let’s split up and look!” 

Tifa balked at the suggestion, glancing around the maze of dark tunnels as if they were mouths itching to swallow them whole. She had known the girl for only a few hours at that point and had since learned that the naive, peppy facade concealed a powerful magic user who could definitely hold her own in a fight. Despite that developing trust, Tifa had reasons for wanting the three of them to stay close. 

No one else was going to die tonight. Not on her watch. She swore it to the stars.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she criticized gently, rubbing her arms as if to brush off the sewer’s rotten dampness. “There’s still a ton of monsters around and one of us could get ambushed or lost or-”

“Oh, come on! Now’s not the time to get paranoid.” Aerith smiled as she said this, glossing over the fact that Tifa’s paranoia, the need to question Don Corneo, was the exact reason they were in this mess to begin with. “Between this one and the last gate, we’ve cleared out the majority of icky rats and stuff and it’s probably the same quad chamber layout. Time is of the essence isn’t it?”

“Yes, but-”

“It makes sense,” Cloud interrupted with a nod. “We need to get through here pronto. Aerith, take the west tunnels, I’ll take the east. Tifa, you can do center. Meet back here in twenty minutes.”

“Roger that!” Aerith was already skipping away before Tifa could protest and Cloud was marching towards his assigned tunnel not a second later. In what felt like a blink, she was alone. 

Taking a deep breath, she stared down the dark path with its flickering bulbs threatening to extinguish at any moment and tried to squash down the instinctual panic. The center tunnel was a relatively straight path, which was most likely why Cloud had assigned it to her after sensing her hesitation. It was sweet of him. But she couldn’t help but also feel a twinge of annoyance that he had so quickly accepted Aerith’s suggestion. 

As she began her trek into the darkness, it was easy to admit that she was experiencing some unique shade of jealousy. Not the usual vivid green kind. More of a mint cream. This feeling had nothing to do with the flower girl herself who was proving to be the epitome of generosity and kindness with just a sprinkle of badass. Had they met under different circumstances, surely they would have become fast friends. It was just Cloud listening to any other person, let alone such a beautiful, older woman, that had her clenching her fists. 

The man was infamously unbendable; as solid and unyielding as the concrete beneath her boots. That this stranger was able to boss him around so easily was very...confusing. She could just blurt out what she wanted and then make it happen, whether or not he agreed at first, until he just naturally succumbed to her lead. It was this rare magic of hers that pinged Tifa’s envy. Tifa wondered, if she had had such incredible social skills dipped in pluckiness, where she and Cloud would stand now. Whether he would have introduced her to Aerith as something other than just an old friend. 

In her dreams, maybe. 

Tifa closed her eyes in a wince as she rounded a bend near the end of the corridor, having forgotten for a moment that she was meant to keep an eye out for the flash of a key, when she walked into something warm and solid.

Instinctively, she raised her fists, expecting one of those mutated rats or fish that were so prevalent down here. It took her a shameful number of seconds to realize that such animals didn’t have hands with which to catch her.

“Tifa.” Cloud said her name so sternly it was almost a reprimand. Looking up into those too blue eyes, she noted his expression had a matching seriousness. It didn’t take long to put two and two together and realize they were far from the eastern tunnels Cloud had vowed to sweep. He had been looking for her. 

For what reason, she was too terrified to inquire. 

Had it really only been two days since they had technically, though not completely, made love? With his hands clenched to her biceps, it felt like eons since he had touched her. Oh, how she missed it. Like getting a whiff of sweet liquor days after swearing it off. 

“What is it?” she asked, a smidge breathless. “Is anything wrong? Is Aerith-”

“Aerith will be fine.” He flashed a shaky grin. “That girl will outlive us all.”

“Then why-”

“I, umm, wanted to talk to you.” Tifa gulped, her nerves tightening to the point of strangulation. _Talking_ was one of Cloud’s least favorite activities, somewhere on the scale between herding cats and gouging his own eyes out with a rusty spoon. 

“You? Cloud Strife? Want to talk?”

Slowly, he nodded, acknowledging the oddness of the request. “I think we need to, don’t we?”

The hands on her biceps slid away now that she was stable and she felt chilled from the lack of his heat. Yes, there were so many things she wanted to say. So many things to share and maybe even a few requests. Gods, she probably had hours if not days worth of words bottled up, things about Nibleheim and Shinra, their parents and their friends, the exact definition and details of their arrangement going forward, if it was to go forward. An ocean’s worth of memories and hopes. 

None of these could come out right then. No matter how hard they pressed against her teeth. Don Corneo’s warning still rattled around her brain like loose bolts in a car engine; a sound that could not help but make one constantly on edge while having no choice but to push onwards. If there was even a micro-fragment of truth to it…

“As long as we keep looking for that key,” she insisted, sidestepping him to keep on down the tunnel. Cloud followed a couple of paces behind.

For the next five minutes, they walked, scanning the walls and ground for a telltale silver flash and finding nothing other than mildew, animal bones and, in one promising instance, a crushed soda can. The air seemed to thicken with every step, pressing upon her shoulders like an anvil of awkwardness. They were due back to meet Aerith at the gate soon.

“You wanted to talk,” she reminded him after kicking away another aluminum false hope. “Then talk.”

“I’m trying,” he muttered from somewhere over her shoulder. “This isn’t exactly easy for me.”

That was the understatement of the century. 

With yet another disappointed breath, Tifa moved forward. Someone like Aerith probably would have started poking him by now, shooting an endless stream of teasing quips that would pry open the floodgates of conversation if only to shut her up. Such assertiveness wasn’t possible for someone like Tifa, especially distracted as she was. If Cloud chose to simply run out the clock, she would let him. She was sick of having to coerce him into situations and actions he obviously wanted no part in. 

Thankfully, with just five minutes to spare, he seemed to have dredged up some resolve. 

“Back at the bar,” he started, so softly she almost missed it. “I...I had never done that.” 

The confession made her stop in her tracks. She turned halfway toward him, unable to let herself be completely exposed again. 

“Really?”

He chuckled morosely. “Are you surprised?”

“Yes, actually.” A hand went to her hip, adopting her typical no-nonsense pose she used when someone was getting rowdy at the bar. “SOLDIERs are notorious for being...animalistic.”

It was perhaps an offensive adjective to use, but any other to summarize the rumors did not exist. She had heard, read about and even witnesses on a couple of occasions; how ruthless those glowing-eyed super fighters were. How they could go days without food or sleep but then devour a meal meant for ten in one sitting, storing the accumulated energy for later use. They had more in common with tigers than men, one especially scathing report had stated. All teeth and instinct. Near insatiable. 

Cloud winced at the implication. “They weren’t like that. Not always.”

“They?” 

Another twinge hit him, but this one was harsh enough that his hand went to his head until he was able to shake the sensation away. “ _We_ . We weren’t like that. Few had relationships. It was too difficult to maintain one between endless missions. We were made to fight. So we were always _fighting_. I suppose, in some ways, we are animals.”

Turning to face the wall, similarly unwilling to be vulnerable, Cloud crossed his arms over his chest. “Just wanted to say, before we get back, that I’m sorry and I can control it. It won’t happen again.”

Even though the assertion wasn’t surprising, Tifa flushed with exasperation. “Why not?” 

“Because.” He gestured to himself, as if that explained everything. “I’m not-” Another disheartened chuckle escaped, shaking his head as if in disbelief that he was having this conversation. “You could have married anyone in Nibelheim, you know?” 

At this, Tifa choked, wondering why he would say such a hurtful thing. Everyone from Nibelheim was dead. 

He continued. “ _Anyone_. And I’m- I’m not...good.” 

It was her turn to laugh. What ridiculously high standards he held himself to. “Being good should be the least of your concerns. Did you not feel me-” 

“I didn’t mean...Mechanical skill and worthiness are different. That day at the bar...we weren’t even careful. It was incredibly stupid and I- I’m the last person you should attach yourself to.”

“Well too late,” she huffed, annoyed by his use of the word “mechanical” to describe what they’ve been doing the last few days. In a spurt of bravery, she took a step closer. “I’m attached. I’m more than attached, I’m-”

She stopped talking upon noticing his extremely pained expression. Like he was in the midst of being told his childhood pet got hit by a car. So she bit her tongue for a moment to think, plucking and arranging errant thoughts together like flowers in a vase, hoping to find an arrangement that was satisfying. 

True, what had happened at the bar hadn’t been the wisest of decisions, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t discuss, adjust and regroup. He wasn’t even proposing that option. Instead, he leapt right into it never happening again, as if she wasn’t worth the effort of figuring out how they could move forward together.

“You’re just running away,” she decided. “You want to be with me and that scares you cause you think you’re not good enough. But-”

“I’m _protecting_ you,” he clarified, spurred enough to fully face her for this. “All of this, everything I’ve done, it’s supposed to be about protecting you. There are rules of conduct-”

“What _rules?_ We’re not schoolchildren anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean we can just-” 

“I can take care of myself and who are you to decide how I run my life or who I _screw_!” 

“Tifa-”

“ _Yoohooooo_ !” From far down the tunnel, a dainty voice trickled toward them. Aerith. _“Tiffaaaa. Clouuuudddooo. I ffooouuunndddd itttt!”_

Cloud and Tifa turned towards the bend of the tunnel, flushing as they realized how well voices carried in these oval halls. Without another word, they began the trek back at a brisk pace. All they could hope was that their nosey acquaintance at least took the hint from their demeanors that this was not a topic open for group discussion. 

When they arrived back at the gate, the flower girl was twirling the chain of a silver key around her finger. “How nice of you guys to join me,” she said with a teasing grin. Tifa, despite the unfinished conversation, felt herself unwind slightly within her presence. She just had that sort of influence. “Let’s mosey on, shall we?”

Turning to the gate she inserted the key. However, to their shock and disappointment, the lock didn’t click. She tried again, twisting more firmly, but it remained committed to keeping them out. Cloud groaned in annoyance. 

“Now, now. Don’t give up hope yet.” Aerith shimmied the key within the lock and tried turning it between her palms for extra force. “Sometimes things, even when they’re made for each other, get a little bit rusty over time and need a little bit of...gentle...manipulation…”

The mechanism was refusing to release even with all her coaxing. For the first time in the short while she had known her, Tifa noticed her smile starting to waver. Another minute and it was a full-on scowl. 

“Son of a...well, when that doesn’t work.” Stepping back a few paces, she hiked up her dress a little, raised a leg, and kicked her heel directly onto the key back, forcing it inside. Both Tifa and Cloud gasped simultaneously, reaching a hand out to stop her in case she snapped the thing off inside the lock, leaving them with the only option of swimming across a river of monster- infested sewage. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, the gate surrendered with a click and swung open. 

“That’s more like it.” Sporting a cocky grin, Aerith slapped her hands free of dust before gesturing for them to pass. “After you!”

Following a moment of shocked silence, Cloud went through first while shaking his head. The girls could tell he was suppressing the urge to reprimand, wisely choosing to keep his mouth shut considering that a) the unorthodox method had worked and b) she probably wouldn’t let him hear the end of it for daring to doubt. 

Once he was a couple of meters ahead, Tifa slowed her pace to fall in line with Aerith. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” she admitted, trying to taper her complete and utter awe. “I would have been scared to break the lock. I would have just kept looking and looking and we’d have been stuck here for hours and…” She took a breath to tame her rant, refusing to drown in what-ifs for the thousandth time that week. “I suppose my point is: thank you, Aerith. You’re a braver woman than me.”

The pink-clad girl merely waved the compliments away like cigarette smoke. “Oh please. That was more impatience than bravery! I just figured, when the stakes are high, you gotta just give it your all and hope for the best, you know?” 

She looked at her then with some strange glimmer in her eye. Almost as if she knew something that Tifa didn’t. Secrets from the planet’s core. Under that intense green-eyed stare, something inside Tifa relaxed and unfurled like a cat in a beam of sunlight and she blushed, feeling naked yet comfortable in her skin. 

“Anyway, I’m glad to have you with us. That’s all.”

“The feeling is completely mutual, dear Tifa.” Unashamed as ever, Aerith looped her arm with Tifa’s and pulled her closer. “Now let’s try to keep up with SOLDIER-boy before that grumpy expression permanently sticks to his face.” 

“Tifa! Aerith!” True to her prediction, Cloud was waiting at a crossing bridge far ahead, his lips turned into a deeply disapproving pout. “I would like to get out of here sometime this century.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on!” Aerith shot back, sticking out her tongue. She then leaned closer to Tifa to whisper “not that I would complain if he didn’t.”

Tifa couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing to the obvious disapproval of Cloud, who’s frown grew even deeper. It felt good to laugh after so many days of nothing but destruction, unwanted advances from goons and barely dodged murder. How fortunate for them both that Cloud had somehow stumbled upon this girl, as crazy as she was to join their party with no real incentive beyond offering a helping hand. 

Such selflessness inspired Tifa to rearrange her priorities. Untangling her and Cloud’s relationship could wait. Possibly forever. 

At least until she developed the tenacity for kicking open locked gates. 

* * *

**Author’s Note:** Thank you, as always, for following me in this strange experiment as I rediscover a much celebrated pairing. In theory, there is only one chapter left but I have two relatively heavy scenes planned, so who knows if it’ll end up getting split in two. Look at me, sticking to a planned chapter count. Maybe there’s hope for me yet! Comments/Reviews are greatly appreciated and encourage me to write faster, so thank you all so much for your notes as I do take them all to heart (even the criticisms). Till next time. 


	8. Release

_“The bad news: there is no key to happiness._

_The good news: it isn’t locked”_

**.| Codes of Conduct |.**

_Chapter 8: Release_

Tifa was crying. 

Bawling, to be precise. Including the full table d'hôte of repulsive side effects: runny nose, puffy eyes, and nasal sniveling interrupted by the odd half-choked wheeze. It was definitely not a state that anyone in their right mind would call “inviting”. 

Cloud Strife, infamously, was not of the right mind. Hadn’t been for a while, if ever. 

He held her that night, allowing salty tears to stain the fabric of his uniform shirt, desperate to provide some - _any_ \- wisp of comfort as they stood there in Aerith’s garden, not long after the hostess herself had been captured by Shinra forces. Tifa didn’t read too much into it at first. She was the one who had initiated the connection, drawn to him out of desperation more than anything. As though he were a lighthouse and she, a lone-manned skiff in a sea growing ever more turbulent. There were no expectations beyond him standing still and allowing her to absorb some solely needed warmth for a few seconds as she released the floodgates of sorrow and horror that had accumulated over the last few days. 

Thus, when his arms rose, hands pressing upon her back, crushing her to his chest in an embrace that bordered on violent, she squeaked in surprise. It was the first and only indication that he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed by the Sector 7 plate fall and their new friend’s subsequent kidnapping. 

Long ago, Cloud had vowed to protect her, to be her hero, and in the most rudimentary of ways he had fulfilled that duty. Again and again and again, a countless number of times in a mere half month since being reunited, he had shielded her physically from harm. She hated to seem ungrateful, but avoiding broken bones and bloodshed wasn’t nearly enough. Aerith on the other hand, without needing to be asked, had taken on the role of heroine to Tifa’s spiritual self, which apparently required an even thicker shielding from life’s harsh elements. 

The flower girl had kept her smiling when Tifa was nearly paralyzed by terror. She had vowed to bring Marlene to safety when her heart was about to rip in half from being yanked in multiple directions at once. In their brief candle flame of a friendship, she had pretty much taught and pushed the lowly barmaid, who was generally known to lead with reason, to follow her heart above all else. 

Even locked far away above them, Tifa could almost hear her twinkling giggle as she and Cloud clung to one another, perhaps muttering something along the lines of “it’s about damn time!”. As if Cloud had heard it too, his arms around her tightened to the point that the rusted bolts of his bracer started digging into her shoulder blade. Though the idea of interrupting this moment - this glorious deliverance - was its own kind of painful, she would be of no help to anyone if she allowed herself to be inadvertently stabbed. 

“Cloud,” she said, tears relenting if only due to shock. Wanting to fully absorb the final seconds, she tilted her cheek and took a deep inhale of his scent; tingling mako menthol, steel, earth and home. “Cloud, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh.” He pulled away instantly but not very far, hand sliding down her back as if to brush away the pain. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really. I’m fine.” 

Looking up while wiping her eyes, Tifa realized that this was the closest they had ever been face to face. Which was somewhat hilarious considering all that they had done up to that point. Three times he had been inside of her, whether by fingers, tongue or for a divine minute that she would remember for as long as she lived, what she had considered to be the most private part of a man’s body. She was understanding just then, staring into those blue-green irises that pulsed with unnatural light, that maybe that was far from the truth. There were other parts of him still deeply buried under layers of trauma and guilt, ones that she may never unlock in a lifetime of attempts. Other untouched targets, however, were slightly more realistic. Her gaze instinctively fell to his mouth and there it stayed, debating how much bravery Aerith’s ethereal presence could infuse her with.

Tonight he had hugged her, even though there was no way he could have seen or smelled that that was exactly what she needed. Perhaps he was starting to read more than just physiological desires via his enhanced senses. She stared at his lips so fiercely she feared he would start to feel them burn, silently begging him. This entire time, it wasn't the physical release she craved most. It was the assertion that someone cared; someone with a shared history and, perhaps, a joint future. Her hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt in a silent plea. 

Please. Please. _Please_ , Cloud. 

Before they returned to the acidity of blood and sweat on her tongue, she needed a taste of human softness. To remind herself that it existed and was worth fighting for. 

“Tifa,” he whispered, that infuriating mouth of his curling at the corner. At the same time, a gloved hand reached to trace her hair behind her ear and he took a deep breath through his nose as if to stabilize his resolve. It made her bristle slightly. 

“Don’t do me any favors,” she was sure to mention. “If this isn’t something you want-”

A chuckle interrupted. “What I want is...strange.”

Her eyes moved up to meet his again, brow furrowed. 

“Tell me,” she demanded, spurred by Aerith’s influence where she would have usually left him to linger until one or both shut down. Cloud, as confused and uncertain a man as he was, needed light pushes to move forward. She needed them to move forward tonight, somehow. “I promise I won’t... _tempt_ you anymore. You said it wasn’t going to happen again and I respect that. Let’s just fully take it off the table.”

With this vow, she was glad to note that some immeasurable tension drained from his shoulders. “Don’t you mean take it off the bar?”

A shared laugh and Tifa felt her heart warm with affection, the hands splayed on his chest moving up to his shoulders, somehow making their pose even more intimate. “What is it you want, Cloud?”

A blush stained his cheeks and he turned towards the glittering river. She was tempted to reach for his chin and force him back to her, but hadn’t reached that level of forwardness yet. Probably never would. She had him in her arms and he wasn’t making any move to retreat. For now, that was enough. 

“You know my mom had a garden,” he started, nodding towards Aerith and Elmyra’s starlight dappled cottage. “Not as impressive as this one, but enough to keep us fed. She tried to teach me how to take care of it, but I was more interested in reading about war.” She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and Tifa’s less impetuous self took rein, hoping to ease him into the tale. 

This was the first time he mentioned Nibleheim. 

“I remember,” she said softly, fingers brushing against the downy hairs at the back of his neck in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. “She made pumpkin tarts once for the autumn festival. They were the best thing I ever tasted.”

The sugar and spice had been secondary to the unexpectedly creamy pumpkin puree. She remembered licking her fingers and begging for the recipe. Claudia had said it was a family secret but, hopefully, Cloud would teach her once he came back from training. The memory made Tifa’s eyes well up again. 

Claudia Strife, like Biggs and Jessie, had been too good for this world. 

Despite the painful subject manner, Cloud was still smiling as he stared at the modest vegetable patch, immersed in brighter memories. “She supported me trying for SOLDIER, but I knew she wasn’t happy about it. The entire month after I got my summons and prepared to leave, she insisted on having these.... _talks_ every night. She wanted me to be prepared and safe but never forget home.”

“Sounds like Claudia.”

“Yeah.” Turning back, Cloud’s face was bathed in shadow. “She wanted me to grow things, to provide instead of destroy. I failed.”

“Cloud-”

“No. Let me finish. Please.” Another deep breath and the hands on her back drew her a little closer; another silent plea for attention. “I’m not good enough for you. Please don’t argue. But maybe I could be. I just need some...time. And also, I...I don’t want-”

Tifa had to bite her lip to keep from interrupting as he gathered his flickering thoughts like fireflies in a jar. It was agony to wait but glorious to be privy to any details on his true incentives. When he finally felt confident enough to speak, his stare was harder than ever, eyes practically piercing her skin. “Though I know my actions lately may go against this, I think I want us to be...traditional. To have at least one standard from home survive.”

“Traditional?” Tifa repeated, baffled by the very concept. After so many years being, she supposed, “corrupted” by Midgar, the courtship standards of a small village had long since fled the realm of possibility. “Do you mean...you don’t want us to-”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a short nod.

“Not until after, like, _traditional_ -traditional?”

“Um-hm.” 

“Oh. Wow.” 

“Is that okay?” he asked, expression heartbreakingly hopeful. 

Her instinct was to say “no”. Nibelheim was long since dead and buried along with the two wide-eyed, innocent kids who had grown up there. If there was one thing she was grateful for, she had been spared having to participate in the mortifying pageantry of those debutante dances attended by all sixteen-year-old girls in the county, as if there were all prize cattle showing off their teeth to deep pocketed farmers. When this had begun, after she found him at the Sector 7 train station two weeks and lifetime ago, she remembered joking to herself about how he may have once been a contender as her husband had the town never burned. Back when she thought she’d hadn’t had a choice but to wrangle a nice one before her life could officially begin. 

Nibelheim, where kids got married at sixteen just to escape oppressive households. 

Nibelheim, where the air smelled like freshly cut grass instead of rotten eggs. 

Nibelheim, where her parents and so many people had taken their last breaths. 

Nibelheim, the last place and time she had ever felt peace.

As much of that town she wanted to remain as ashes in her memory, other parts were too deeply nested within her spirit, like the roots of the willow tree they used to climb. 

Remembering Claudia’s autumn tarts, their simple crusts concealing a treasure of sweetness and spice deep within to those who bothered to be patient, the answer to Cloud’s question became as clear as the blue sky during the village’s summer solstice. 

“Of course, Cloud,” she said, hands pulling at his neck, leaning closer until their foreheads touched. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you, Tifa.” His tone and the hands snaking around her waist were a vivid reminder of how very difficult this promise of hers was gonna be to keep. 

She wanted him. 

She would never stop wanting him. 

The implication was that it may be years before they got back to the point they had explored at the bar, but strangely enough she didn’t mind that. If this is where they had ended up after a few weeks, then she had every reason to believe that, slowly but surely, they would get there via the scenic route. As long as they kept communicating.

Speaking of communication, the term “traditional” could have a plethora of definitions. Against all natural inclinations to leave the conversation at that, she remembered Aerith and practically felt the girl prodding her in the back. 

“Just to be clear,” she said, voice rising in pitch, breath stuttering just from being so close to him. “Can we still do _other_ -”

He interrupted her in the best way possible. Finally, after what felt like eons, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. 

His kiss was soft and chaste but somehow still the most heated thing they had done so far, to the point where she started to shake from the intensity as though electrocuted. It was a stamped seal of approval on this new vow made to one another: a promise of a future and maybe, someday, settle into a new type of ‘tradition’. Where vegetable gardens and homemade pumpkin tarts wove between twisted rebar and explosives.

There in Aerith’s garden, surrounded by the perfume of reunion flowers, Tifa could see it, taste it, _feel_ it. It spurred her to push a little deeper, angling her head so that her tongue could softly trace the seam of his lips. Always the quick learner in addition to being fluent in the language of her body, he similarly craned his neck to allow more pressure, more _feeling._ The arms around her waist tightened to pull her close enough that her feet left the ground and she giggled with unbridled happiness. 

Cloud. Cloud. Cloud Strife. By Gods, the way that boy made her _feel_ , whether by words or a look or touch, like she was floating above the wreckage over the last five years. It was downright supernatural. 

The evening could have ended there and it would have still been considered perfect. They would have been able to move forward with the plans to infiltrate Shinra and rescue Aerith minus regrets and plus newfound inspiration to get out alive. Parting to slither into their respective beds would have infused them with the combative edge that only a good night’s sleep could provide. 

Tifa, however, had one last concern that was poking at her like his rusted bracer had; an unbalanced debt dangling and threatening to guillotine the memory’s perfection. 

Opening her eyes, she spotted a potting shed a couple of paces away and was struck by a thrilling scheme. She pulled away from their kiss, which had long since become a simple pressing of mouths, with extreme reluctance to reveal those eyes pulsing with a ring teal; a side effect of which she was now well aware of the trigger. The look alone made her toes clutch the inside of her boots. They may die tomorrow, another probable suicide mission, and she owed him one. She owed him four, to be precise. She swore that, eventually, they’d get even.

Tonight, she felt she had earned another number in cracking to code to his heart. Maybe someday the combination would be fully revealed and she could access the tender treasure of a man behind it all. 

For now...

“Follow me,” she said huskily as he lowered her back to the ground. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the shed and he followed like a helpless puppy. 

Once inside, after he had barely closed the faded old door, she had him slammed against it by the shoulders and kissed him with renewed vigor, like she was starving and he was a well-seasoned slab of meat. He let her. He more than _let_ her. Confident after having voiced his boundaries, something seemed to have been unleashed and he held nothing back as his hands tangled in her hair, hissing when her lips moved to his neck, yanking down his collar with one hand as her other went to his belt. His head fell back against the wood with a booming thump and an involuntary expletive. 

“Shh,” Tifa chastised into his skin as she got the first buckle free. “You’ll wake everyone if you keep that up.”

He chuckled, knowing that she was mirroring his own words from that time he went down on her at Stargazer Heights, which seemed like eons ago. “You don’t have to do this,” he said breathlessly as she got the second buckle undone, a strange combination of excited and terrified. Still, he wasn’t stopping her. When she struggled with the buttons of his pants, he reached down to help, pretty much screaming his impatience in his usual indirect way. 

She couldn’t blame him. This moment was more than just weeks in the making. It was _years_. 

When her hand finally grasped his hardness over navy undershorts, they both sighed in relief. 

“Is this okay?” she asked, giving a small squeeze that had him rising on his tiptoes. He nodded, back of his head making the wood creak, swallowing with a deliberation that had her smirking into the knit fabric of his shirt. “Is- how can I help?”

“I-I don’t know.” This wasn’t him being coy. She imagined, considering his admitted lack of experience, that the options weren’t clear. Tonight was a teaching opportunity for the, hopefully, continued road ahead. Just like he had done for her. 

“I could use my hand,” she whispered against his neck, which was already beading with sweat. “Like this.” Her palm pressed along his covered length and drew up, prompting an agonized grunt when she got to the tip. 

“Yes,” he sputtered, nodding. “That’ll work.”

“Or maybe…” Pushing past the waistband, she dove past the silkiest skin to the mounds of flesh below, massaging gently. Another grunt, this one deeper and longer. 

“Yes. That too. Anything, really.”

“Mmm.” She continued teasing for a minute longer, cataloguing his reactions based on how hard and where she squeezed. The tip proved to be the most sensitive, making him suck breath through his teeth whenever her palm so much as brush against it, a bit of wetness already accumulating there. It was upon feeling that telltale prequel that she decided to try something new. If he wanted. 

She lined up her lips to his ear, hand still moving relentlessly, his whole body shivering against her. “I could try my mouth?” she suggested, feeling her cheeks burn from shyness. However, all wisps of shame were dispelled when those words produced the longest groan yet. 

“If you want…” Always the cool SOLDIER, his attempted indifference was rendered moot by the way he spasmed beneath her hands. “But you really don’t have to-”

“Do you think I’m doing this because I _have_ to?” she asked, out of breath for unknown reasons, increasing the speed of her hand moving up and down perhaps to punish him a little. “Can you even imagine what it’s like to be allowed to see you like this finally? I can’t believe...” she trailed off with a light laugh. Putting it into words was unnecessary at this point. 

Instead, after trailing one last, wet kiss along his beautiful angled jaw, she dropped to her knees. There was another thump as his head fell back against the wood again as she worked to free him from the confines of his pants, as impatient as ever, half expecting him to change his mind midway and push her away again. 

He didn’t. Couldn’t, it seemed, by that point. She felt his stomach tense when her lips first wrapped around him, something unintelligible falling from his mouth, gloved hands squeezing her shoulders before weaving up into her hair and holding on as if for dear like. 

She had never felt more powerful. 

As she took him in deeper, choosing how to move and where to concentrate based on the way he shuddered and gasped, Cloud apparently felt the need to continue the conversation. Like this, he could communicate. Like this, he was temporarily exposed. “If this is anything like how I felt when touching you, then yes. I can imagine. I get it...I _completely_ get it.” 

She released him to smile and pepper the soft skin with kisses, allowing him to calm down a little as she admired this previously hidden part. All softness and pink down here, in such contrast to the rest of him. It gave her another spark of thrill to know that she was the only one to have known him this way. 

Licking her lips, she thought of those pumpkin tarts and how the sweet spice had tickled her tongue. It was necessary to amend that naive assertion she had made during that Fall festival. 

_He_ was now the best thing she ever tasted. 

“Tifa,” he begged, tugging on her hair a little, the pause in her ministrations apparently only making him more desperate. “Please.”

It was tempting to tease him for lack of patience, but she decided not to press her luck. That he felt comfortable enough to ask her to continue was yet another number to the code and she wanted to encourage such behaviour; to reward it, as though he were a young animal she was training. Not that such a comparison could apply to Cloud who had proven, over and over again, to be selfless and disciplined. All the rumors about SOLDIERs taking and destroying, he kept disproving piece by piece. The “animalistic” tendencies, even when he finally did succumb to them like most human males would have long since, were still respectful and pleading.

He deserved an explosive introduction. A preview of what could be the rest of their lives, no matter how short, if he fully allowed himself to _feel._

With renewed enthusiasm, Tifa took him back into her mouth, as far as she could go this time, nearly hitting the back of her throat and causing his whole body to spasm. Up and down, up and down, until he started instinctively moving his hips a little in her same rhythm. Her hands that had been grasping the outside of his hips for balance, one moved to grip him and join the practice, moving in time with her lips to squeeze whatever flesh had been left unattended as she picked up the pace. 

The grip on her hair tightened at some point and she dared to look up to see him watching her with wide, excessively bright eyes. The expression he wore was especially unexpected. Instead of mere pleasure or perhaps the pain of holding back, he was looking at her...with appreciation. As one would look at a nurse tending to one’s fatal wounds. As though her being on her knees in this dirty garden shed, she was healing old scars and extracting pain, her hands and lips like a potion dipped tourniquet. 

He was looking at her like he couldn’t believe this was happening. 

He was looking at her like he - maybe - loved her. 

She looked back at him the exact same way which, apparently, was too much.

Those glowing eyes clenched closed as something shifted and he started to shake his head. “You--I’m gonna...you can s-stop.”

As cognizant as she wanted to be with his limits, he had conveniently worded this as more of a suggestion than a demand and she took it as thus, instead increasing her speed and the firmness of her grip. 

He didn’t warn her again. He wouldn’t have been able to even if he wanted. 

When he came, it was with a sigh instead of a curse like the last time he got close at the bar, when he had almost finished inside of her. It proved the difference between the two situations. They had communicated much more since then. Fears, preferences, expectations, hopes. All of this she felt renewed was he shuddered and released in multiple spurts that she worried for a second would never end. 

When it was finally over and she felt him grow soft between her lips, only then did she release, swallowing as he slid against the door down to the floor in front of her, legs unable to support him a second longer. 

Smiling to herself, she gave him a minute to catch his breath, one gloved hand rising to sweep the sweat off his brow as he stared at her with complete and utter awe. Like she was a goddess to be worshipped.

It was impossible not to blush, feeling as invincible as such a being

“Think you can sleep now?” she asked with a teasing lilt, reminding him of what had originally led to this arrangement of theirs. 

He chuckled breathlessly. “Now knowing what can happen, I don’t think I’ll ever want to sleep again.” 

She joined in laughing then. True, perhaps this new arrangement of theirs may very well make their insomnia worse. Though for much, much better reasons. 

He reached for her then, and she fell forward as if pulled by a magnet. Their lips met in a gentle but electrified touch that she felt all the way into her hair. 

“Can I…?” One of Cloud’s hands, somewhere beyond her vision, had left its perch and was starting to climb her leg, up until she felt his thumb tracing along the edge of her thigh-high. “I mean, do you want me to-?”

It was tempting. Gods, was it tempting. Shifting in her seat she was made aware of the slickness that had accumulated between her legs and knew very well, considering his prowess, that it wouldn’t take long to culminate into an explosion of stars. 

Instead, she kissed him again, a little more deeply this time but not enough to reignite things, pushing against his shoulders when he tried to rock forward and set her upon the earth to be thoroughly pruned until blossomed. 

“Another time,” she muttered through a smile. “After we save Aerith. We’ll have time. We’ll have so much time, after.”

Pulling back, his expression turned to one of concern and she was mortified to realize that her eyes were sparkling with tears. Still, he gave her the benefit of a nod, solidifying the lie if only because there was no other choice. 

“There will be time. Later,” he agreed. 

“Yes.” Another kiss, possibly the last. They let it linger, frozen, for untold seconds, allowing it to spread throughout their skin like a virus until they were all consumed by it. 

By the time they pulled apart, the first rays of sunlight were peeking through the gaps in the wooden walls and Marlene’s shrill giggles wafted over from the main house. 

It was time to face destiny. 

Together.

* * *

EPILOGUE

_Three Years Later_

“Cloud?” Seven-year-old Marlene was sitting at the kitchen table with a pencil between her teeth, shifting her chair a few inches closer. “Can I ask you something?

“Hmm?” Lowering his map to reveal his face, the ex-SOLDIER now delivery man quirked a blonde eyebrow. “Of course you can.”

“When was your and Tifa’s first kiss?” 

At this, Tifa couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing, sloshing a non-insignificant portion of the beer she had been in the midst of funneling into bottles onto the countertop. 

Cloud threw her an evil eye, though the corner of his lip was turned up a little. It was an important memory to both of them, but the details definitely were not suitable for someone of Marlene’s age bracket.

“It was right after the Sector 7 plate fall,” he explained concisely, raising the map again most probably to hide the crimson staining his cheeks. “In Elmyra’s garden. Why?”

“No reason. Just brainstorming my maid of honor speech.”

Mopping up her error with a rag, Tifa sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that day. “We already told you Marlene. There won’t be any speeches. We’re just going to town hall. Five minutes in and out. Just how I like it.”

From behind the map, Cloud threw her another sideways smirk and she could only roll her eyes. 

Marlene, however, was not so easily deterred. “Aww come on Tifa! Let’s at least have a party! We could do it here and invite Vincent and Cid and Shera and Daddy and Nanaki and Yuffie and-”

“I’m already exhausted,” Tifa said while twisting on the first of forty-eight bottle caps. “Please respect our wishes, sweetie. Cloud doesn’t want to make a big fuss.”

“Actually,” Cloud scratched the back of his head. “A party might be...kinda nice.”

“YES! Then it’s settled! I’ll go call everyone and-”

“Hold off on that Marlene. Can you go take the garbage out like I told you to do an hour ago?”

Pouting, the little girl did as she was asked though grumpily, swiping the green bag off the counter before marching out the door with notably frustrated steps. Tifa took the rare opportunity of privacy to slide into the seat beside Cloud, hands clenched on the tabletop. 

They hadn’t really talked about it. The string of their entire three-year relationship had always been more of a tangle, with random twists and knots that either brought things to a jarring halt where they could hardly exchange words or found them completely wrapped around one another in the backseat of a buggy. Even the decision to get married had happened out of the blue less than twelve hours prior. Reeve had stopped by the bar to warn them of some new WRO implementations for people living in Edge. In order to keep their unconventional collage of a family together, it was suggested that they formally adopt Marlene and Denzel to avoid any legal hassles once the government stabilized. The WRO commissioner then oh-so-casually tagged on that being married would make the red tape slightly less sticky and so Cloud had just blurted out, in front of _everyone_ , as if he were asking for something as nonchalant as another refill:, “then we should get married. Right?”

What a jerk. A jerk whom she loved and wouldn’t dream of ever saying no to. He could have asked while shoveling manure for their new, modest vegetable patch and she still wouldn’t have hesitated to agree. 

Marriage, she had no problem with. It had been pretty much decided years ago that it would happen eventually, once they felt settled. But a _wedding_. That was a whole different creature.

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged, folding the map as it became clear that this was no longer a mere trading of jibes. “Am I ever not?”

“I figured weddings weren’t your thing.” 

“It wouldn’t be a _wedding,_ it would be…” He struggled to patch together a definition, wrist rotating in circles. “Our few closest friends and family gathering in one room to witness us make our promise official. With cake.”

“You basically described a wedding.”

“Oh.” He shrugged again, as if the thought had only now occurred to him. “Then yes, I guess I want a wedding.”

Slowly, both of their mouths curled up into a smile, fingers crawling towards one another on the tabletop until they were intertwined. “Not to mention, if we call it a wedding and Barret comes in for it, maybe he’d be willing to watch the kids for a few days. We could go somewhere. Just us.” There was a distinctive spark in his eyes as he said this and Tifa felt the heat of it down into her core.

“A wedding AND a honeymoon? You sure have lofty ambitions, Mr. Strife.”

“You know I do.” She kissed him then and, as always, it quickly became heated. They’d been together-together for only a few months officially post his geostigma healing and every minute since had been wracked with tension as they rediscovered each other’s bodies. Even though some nights pushed the boundaries, somehow they had managed to avoid crossing the final threshold and still hadn’t, technically, made love. Finally being able to probably wasn’t the main reason Cloud had proposed so readily, but it was certainly up there.

“How fast do you think we can pull this off?” Tifa asked, more than a tad breathless.

Cloud, looking absolutely agonized, pulled out his PHS from his pocket to check the calendar. “We need at least three days to get a license,” he said before bringing his mouth to her neck in a deep suck, marking her as his in the best way he knew how. “So...next weekend?” 

“Sold. I’ll tell Marlene to start calling people.” 

“Perfect.”

Their mouths met again as she fell into the cage of his arms. 

Warmed by the glow of promises made and kept, Tifa thought back to how closed off he had been up until only a few months ago, like an impossible to solve puzzle which often had her pulling her hair out in frustration. She thought of Aerith, their dearly departed friend, kicking down gates and enthusiastically ushering them along. Tifa still didn’t have the guts to be that assertive. Her style was more akin to learning to pick the lock, using an encyclopedia-length training series as a guide. It has been nearing three years since that day in the sewers but she never forgot the conversation.

Sometimes things, even if they are made for one another, need a little push. 

The key to Cloud Strife’s heart may have been misplaced years ago in Hojo’s lab, but she managed to shimmy through the crack and get in somehow. 

If she was able to crack that code then she knew, with absolute certainty, that nothing was beyond reach. 

THE END

* * *

****Author’s Note**:** Thank you all, so much, for following me on this plotless exploration as I practiced my Cloti voice and tried my hands at some smut. It was a lot of fun and I’m pretty proud of myself for also sticking to an outline and chapter count for once in my life, even though this could have gone on forever. Thank you to everyone on the Final Heaven Discord server, especially **Waffle** (Beta extraordinaire) for their support and assistance. 

A heads up that I have two projects in the pipeline. 1) A tribute to my past via remastering my most popular post ACC-timeline fic on ff.net, “Wait For It”, to be improved in transit for audience’s here on my new home site, AO3, as well as 2) my first foray into the AU genre I had be avoiding for decades only to be shown the light of its potential by so many talented writers here: “The Curriculum”. 

This year has and will continue to be a rough one, but on the bright side at least it seems like most of us have more time to write? :P. Best of luck to us all and I hope to see you in the comments of my next works. 

With all my love and appreciation.

  * Mayonaka (Nancy)



  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Full on walked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363530) by [sossori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sossori/pseuds/sossori)
  * [A byproduct of close quarters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453842) by [sossori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sossori/pseuds/sossori)
  * [Finally](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652952) by [sossori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sossori/pseuds/sossori)




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